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Abaft  the  Funnel 

By 

Rudyard  Kipling 


'Men  in  pajamas  sitting  abaft  the  funnel 
and  swapping  lies  of  the  purple  seas  " 

AUTHORIZED   EDITION 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1909 


Authorized  Edition 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 


/y  O 


/14tAJ 


A 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

Messrs,  B.  W.  Dodge  S  Company  have  issued 
without  my  knowledge  or  sanction  the  folloujUng 
odds  and  ends  unearthed  from  newspaper  files  of 
twenty  years  ago,  and  therefore  unprotected  hy 
copyright,  I  should  never  have  reprinted  them, 
hut  Messrs.  Dodge's  enterprise  compels  me  to  do 

^^'  RUDYARD  KIPLING 

OCTOBBB,  1909. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Erastasius  of  the  Whanghoa 3 

Her  Little  Responsibility 13 

A  Menagerie   Aboard 20 

A  Smoke  of  Manila 25 

The  Red  Lamp 31 

The  Shadow  of  His  Hand 38 

A  Little  More  Beef 46 

The  History  of  a  Fall 54 

Griffiths  the  Safe  Man  iX^. 62 

It!   V. 72 

A  Fallen  Idol 79 

New  Brooms 84 

Tiglath  Pileser 91 

The  Likes  o'  Us 100 

His  Brother's  Keeper  '< Ill 

**  Sleipner,"  Late  ''  Thurinda  "  "      ,       .       .       .129 

A  Supplementary  Chapter 147 

Chautauquaed          .        .        .    y,       ....  164 

The  Bow  Flume  Cable-Car  '^ 185 

In  Partibus 193 

Letters  on  Leave 197 

The  Adoration  of  the  Mage 226 

A  Death  in  the  Camp 232 

A  ReaUy  Good  Time     ....       e       ..  238 
vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

On  Exhibition 245 

The  Three  Young  Men 254 

My  Great  and  Only 262 

''  The  Betrayal  of  Confidences  "       .       .       .       .274 

The  New  Dispensation — I 281 

The  New  Dispensation— II 289 

The  Last  of  the  Stories  ^     .       ,       ,       .       .       .  297 


Abaft  the  Funnel 


Abaft  the  Funnel 


ERASTASIUS  OF  THE  WHANGHOA 

"rflHE  old  cat's  tumbled  down  the  ventilator, 
sir,  and  he's  swearing  away  under  the  fur- 
nace-door in  the  stoke-hole,"  said  the  second  offi- 
cer to  the  Captain  of  the  Whanghoa, 

**  Now  what  in  thunder  was  Erastasius  doing 
at  the  mouth  of  the  ventilator?  It's  four  feet 
from  the  ground  and  painted  red  at  that.  Any 
of  the  children  been  amusing  themselves  with  him, 
d'you  think?  I  wouldn't  have  Erastasius  dis- 
turbed in  his  inside  for  all  the  gold  in  the  treas- 
ury," said  the  Captain.  **  Tell  some  one  to  bring 
him  up,  and  handle  him  delicately,  for  he's  not 
a  quiet  beast." 

In  three  minutes  a  bucket  appeared  on  deck. 
It  was  covered  with  a  wooden  lid.  **  Think  he 
have  make  die  this  time,"  said  the  Chinese  sailor 
who  carried  the  coffin,  with  a  grin.  **  Catchee 
him   topside   coals — ^no   open   eye — ^no    spit — ^no 

8 


4  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

sclatchee  my.  Have  got  bucket,  allee  same,  and 
make  tight.     See!  " 

He  dived  his  bare  arm  under  the  lid,  but  with- 
drew it  with  a  yell,  dropping  the  bucket  at  the 
same  time.  **  Hya!  Can  do.  Maskee  dlop 
down — masky  spilum  coal.  Have  catchee  my  light 
there." 

Blood  was  trickling  from  his  elbow.  He  moved 
aft,  while  the  bucket,  mysteriously  worked  by  hid- 
den force,  trundled  to  and  fro  across  the  decks, 
swearing  aloud. 

Emerged  finally  Erastasius,  tom-cat  and  grand- 
father-in-chief of  the  Whanghoa — a  gaunt 
brindled  beast,  lacking  one  ear,  with  every  hair 
on  his  body  armed  and  erect.  He  was  patched 
with  coal-dust,  very  stiff  and  sore  all  over,  and 
very  anxious  to  take  the  world  into  his  confidence 
as  to  his  wrongs.  For  this  reason  he  did  not  run 
when  he  was  clear  of  the  bucket,  but  sitting  on 
his  hunkers  regarded  the  Captain,  as  who  would 
say:  '*  You  hold  a  master's  certificate  and  call 
yourself  a  seaman,  and  yet  you  allow  this  sort  of 
thing  on  your  boat." 

**  Guess  I  must  apologise,  old  man,"  said  the 
Captain  gravely.    **  Those  ventilators  are  a  little 


ERASTASIUS  OF  THE  WHANGHOA        5 

too  broad  in  the  beam  for  a  passenger  of  your 
build.  Wbat  made  you  walk  down  it?  Not  a 
rat,  eh?  You're  too  well  fed  to  trouble  of  rats. 
Drink  was  it." 

Erastasius  turned  his  back  on  the  Captain.  He 
was  a  tailless  Japanese  cat,  and  the  abruptness 
of  his  termination  gave  him  a  specially  brusque 
appearance. 

**  Shouldn't  wonder  if  the  old  man  hasn't  been 
stealing  something  and  was  getting  away  from 
the  galley.  He's  the  biggest  reprobate  that  ever 
shipped — and  that's  saying  something.  No,  he 
isn't  my  property  exactly.  I've  got  a  notion  that 
he  owns  the  ship.  Gathered  that  from  the  way 
he  goes  round  after  six  bells  to  see  the  lights  out. 
The  chief  engineer  says  he  built  the  engines.  Any- 
way, the  old  man  sits  in  the  engine-room  and  sort 
of  keeps  an  eye  on  the  boilers.  He  was  on  the 
ship  before  I  joined  her — that's  seven  years  ago, 
when  we  were  running  up  and  down  and  around 
and  about  the  China  Seas." 

Erastasius,  his  back  to  the  company,  was  busied 
in  cleaning  his  disarranged  fur.  He  licked  and 
swore  alternately.  The  ventilator  incident  had 
hurt  his  feelings  sorely. 


6  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

**  He  knows  we  are  talking  about  him,"  con- 
tinued the  Captain.  **  He's  a  responsible  kind 
o'  critter.  That's  natural  when  you  come  to  think 
that  he  has  saved  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  dollars. 
At  present  his  wants  are  few — guess  he  would 
like  a  netting  over  those  ventilators  first  thing — 
but  some  day  he'll  begin  to  Jive  up  to  his 
capital." 

**  Saved  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars!  What 
securities  did  he  invest  'em  in?  "  said  a  man  from 
Foochow. 

**  Here,  in  this  bottom.  He  saved  the  Whang- 
hoa  with  a  full  cargo  of  tea,  silk  and  opium,  and 
thirteen  thousand  dollars  in  bar  silver.  Yes; 
that's  about  the  extent  of  the  old  man's  savings. 
I  commanded.  The  old  man  was  the  rescuer,  and 
I  was  more  grateful  to  him  'cause  it  was  my 
darned  folly  that  nearly  brought  us  into  the 
trouble.  I  was  new  to  these  waters,  new  to  the 
Chinaman  and  his  fascinating  little  ways,  being 
a  New  England  man  by  raising.  Erastasius  was 
raised  by  the  Devil.  That's  who  his  sire  was. 
Never  ran  across  his  dam.  Ean  across  a  for- 
saken sea,  though,  in  the  Whanghoa,  a  little  to  the 
northeast  of  this,  with  eight  hundred  steerage  pas- 


EEASTASIUS  OF  THE  WHANGHOA       7 

sengers,  all  Chinamen,  for  various  and  undenom- 
inated  ports.  Had  the  pleasure  of  sending 
eighteen  of  'em  into  the  water.  Yes,  that's  so, 
isn't  it,  old  man?  " 

Erastasius  finished  licking  himself  and  mewed 
affirmatively. 

**  Yes,  we  carried  four  white  officers — a  West- 
erner, two  Vermont  men,  and  myself.  There  were 
ten  Americans,  a  couple  of  Danes  and  a  half-caste 
knocking  round  the  ship,  and  the  crew  were  Chi- 
nese, but  most  of  'em  good  Chinese.  Only  good 
Chinese  I  ever  met.  We  had  our  steerage  pas- 
sengers 'tween-decks.  Most  of  'em  lay  around 
and  played  dominoes  or  smoked  opium.  We  had 
bad  weather  at  the  start,  and  the  steerage  were 
powerful  sick.  I  judged  they  would  have  no  in- 
sides  to  them  when  the  weather  lifted,  so  I  didn't 
put  any  guards  on  them.  Wanted  all  my  men 
to  work  the  ship.  Engines  rotten  as  Congress, 
and  under  sail  half  the  time.  Next  time  I  carry 
Chinese  steerage  trash  I'll  hire  a  Gatling  and 
mount  it  on  the  'tween-decks  hatch. 

**  We  were  fooling  about  between  islands — 
about  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  islands  all 
wrapped  up  in  fog.     When  the  fog  laid  the  wind, 


8       ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

the  engines  broke  down.  One  of  the  passengers 
— ^we  carried  no  ladies  that  journey — came  to  me 
one  evening.  *  I  calculate  there's  a  conspiracy 
'tween-decks,'  he  said.  *  Those  pigtails  are  talk- 
ing together.  No  good  ever  came  of  pigtails  talk- 
ing. I'm  from  'Frisco.  I  author itate  on  these 
matters.'  *  Not  on  this  ship,'  I  said:  *  I've  no 
use  for  duplicate  authority.'  '  You'll  be  homesick 
after  nine  this  time  to-morrow,'  he  said  and 
quit.  I  guess  he  told  the  other  passengers  his 
notions. 

'*  Erastasius  shared  my  cabin  in  general.  I 
didn't  care  to  dispute  with  a  cat  that  went  heeled 
the  way  he  did.  That  particular  night  when  I 
came  down  he  was  not  inclined  for  repose.  When 
I  shut  the  door  he  scrabbled  till  I  let  him  out. 
When  he  was  out  he  scrabbled  to  come  back. 
When  he  was  back,  he  jumped  all  round  the  shanty 
yowling.  I  stroked  him,  and  the  sparks  irrigated 
his  back  as  if  'twas  the  smoke-stack  of  a  river 
steamer.  *  I'll  get  you  a  wife,  old  man,'  I  said, 
*  next  voyage.  It  is  no  good  for  you  to  be  alone 
with  me.'  *  Whooper,  yoopee-yaw-aw-aw/  said 
Erastasius.  '  Let  me  get  out  of  this.'  I  looked 
him  square  between  the  eyes  to  Qs.  the  place  where 


EEASTASIUS  OF  THE  WHANGHOA       9 

'd  come  down  with  a  boot-heel  (he  was  getting 
lonotonons),  and  as  I  looked  I  saw  the  animal 
'^as  just  possessed  with  deadly  fear — human  fear 
-crawling,  shaking  fear.  It  crept  out  of  the 
reen  of  his  eyes  and  crept  over  me  in  billowing 
^aves — each  wave  colder  than  the  last.  *  Un- 
urden  your  mind,  Erastasius,'  I  said.  ^  What's 
oing  to  happen?  '  *  Wheepee-yeepee-ya-ya-ya- 
^oop! '  said  Erastasius,  backing  to  the  door  and 
sratching. 

*  *  I  quit  my  cabin  sweating  big  drops,  and  some- 
ow  my  hand  shut  on  my  six-shooter.  The  grip 
f  the  handle  soothes  a  man  when  he  is  afraid, 
heard  the  whole  ship  'tween-decks  rustling  under 
le  like  all  the  woods  of  Maine  when  the  wind's 
p.  The  lamp  over  the  'tween-decks  was  out. 
'he  steerage  watchman  was  lying  on  the  ground, 
nd  the  whole  hive  of  Celestials  were  on  the  tramp 
-soft-footed  hounds.  A  lantern  came  down  the 
lley-way.  Behind  it  was  the  passenger  that  had 
poken  to  me,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  crowd,  except 
le  half-caste. 

'^  '  Are  you  homesick  any  now?  '  said  my  pas- 
enger.  The  'tween-decks  woke  up  with  a  yell 
t  the  light,  and  some  one  fired  up  the  hatchway. 


10  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

Then  we  began  our  share  of  the  fun — the  ten 
passengers  and  I.  Eleven  six-shooters.  That 
cleared  the  first  rush  of  the  pigtails,  but  we  con- 
tinued firing  on  principle,  working  our  way  down 
the  steps.  No  one  came  down  from  the  spar-deck 
to  assist,  though  I  heard  considerable  of  a  tram- 
pling. The  pigtails  below  were  growling  like  cats. 
I  heard  the  look-out  man  shout,  *  Junk  on  the  port 
bow,'  and  the  bell  ring  in  the  engine-room  for  full 
speed  ahead.  Then  we  struck  something,  and 
there  was  a  yell  inside  and  outside  the  ship  that 
would  have  lifted  your  hair  out.  When  the  out- 
side yell  stopped,  our  pigtails  were  on  their  faces. 
*  Eun  down  a  junk,'  said  my  passenger — '  their 
junk.'  He  loosed  three  shots  into  the  steerage  on 
the  strength  of  it.  I  went  up  on  deck  when  things 
were  quiet  below.  Some  one  had  run  our  Dahl- 
gren  signal-gun  forward  and  pointed  it  to  the 
break  of  the  fo'c'sle.  There  was  the  balance  of  a 
war  junk — three  spars  and  a  head  or  two  on  the 
water,  and  the  first  mate  keeping  his  watch  in 
regular  style. 

**  *  What  is  your  share?  '  he  said.  *  We've 
smashed  up  a  junk  that  tried  to  foul  us.  Seems 
to  have  affected  the  feelings  of  your  friends  be- 


ERASTASIUS  OF  THE  WHANGHOA     11 

)w.  Guess  they  wanted  to  make  connection.' 
It  is  made/  said  I, '  on  the  Glassy  Sea.  Where's 
le  watch!  '  *  In  the  fo'c'sle.  The  half-caste  is 
itting  on  the  signal-gun  smoking  his  cigar.  The 
'atch  are  speculating  whether  he'll  stick  the  busi- 
ess-end  of  it  in  the  touch-hole  or  continue  smok- 
ig.  I  gather  that  gun  is  not  empty.'  *  Send  'em 
own  below  to  wash  decks.  Tell  the  quartermas- 
3r  to  go  through  their  boxes  while  they  are  away, 
'hey  may  have  implements.' 

**  The  watch  went  below  to  clean  things  up. 
'here  were  eighteen  stiff  uns  and  fourteen  with 
oles  through  their  systems.  Some  died,  some 
irvived.  I  did  not  keep  particular  count.  The 
alance  I  roped  up,  and  it  employed  most  of  our 
pare  rigging.     When  we  touched  port  there  was 

picnic  among  the  hangmen.  Seems  that  Eras- 
isius  had  been  yowling  down  the  cabins  all  night 
efore  he  came  to  me,  and  kept  the  passengers 
live.  The  man  that  spoke  to  me  said  the  old 
lan's  eyes  were  awful  to  look  at.  He  was  dying 
)  tell  his  fear,  but  couldn't.  When  the  passengers 
ame  forward  with  the  light,  the  half-caste  quit 
)r  topside  and  got  the  quartermaster  to  load  the 
ignal-gun  with  handspikes  and  bring  it  forward 


12  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

in  case  the  fo'c'sle  wished  to  assist  in  the  row. 
That  was  the  best  half-caste  I  ever  met.  But  the 
fo'c'sle  didn't  assist.  They  were  sick.  So  were 
the  men  below — ^horror-sick.  That  was  the  way 
the  old  man  saved  the  Whanghoa/' 


HER  LITTLE  RESPONSIBILITY 

AND    NO    MAN    MAY    ANSWER    FOR    THE    SOUL    OF    HIS 
BROTHER 

TT  was  two  in  the  morning,  and  Epstin's  Dive 
'*'  was  almost  empty,  when  a  Thing  staggered 
down  the  steps  that  led  to  that  horrible  place  and 
fawned  on  me  disgustingly  for  the  price  of  a 
drink.  **  I'm  dying  of  thirst,''  he  said,  but  his 
tone  was  not  that  of  a  street  loafer.  There  is 
a  freemasonry,  the  freemasonry  of  the  public 
schools,  stronger  than  any  that  the  Craft  knows. 
The  Thing  drank  whisky  raw,  which  in  itself  is 
not  calculated  to  slake  thirst,  and  I  waited  at  its 
side  because  I  knew,  by  virtue  of  the  one  sentence 
above  recorded,  that  it  once  belonged  to  my  caste. 
Indeed,  so  smallis  the  world  when  one  begins  to 
travel  round  it,  that,  for  aught  I  knew,  I  might 
even  have  met  the  Thing  in  that  menagerie  of  care- 
fully-trained wild  beasts,  Decent  Society.  And 
the  Thing  drank  more  whisky  ere  the  flood-gates 
of  its  speech  were  loosed  and  spoke  of  the  wonder- 
ful story  of  its  fall. 

18 


14  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

Never  man,  he  said,  had  suffered  more  than 
he,  or  for  slighter  sin.  Whereat  I  winked  beerily 
into  the  bottom  of  my  empty  glass,  having  heard 
that  tale  before.  I  think  the  Thing  had  been  long 
divided  from  all  social  and  moral  restraint — even 
longer  from  the  wholesome  influence  of  soap  and 
water. 

**  What  I  feel  most  down  here,''  said  It,  and 
by  ^*  down  here  ''  I  presume  he  meant  the  Inferno 
of  his  own  wretchedness,  **  is  the  difficulty  about 
getting  a  bath.  A  man  can  always  catch  a  free 
lunch  at  any  of  the  bars  in  the  city,  if  he  has 
money  enough  to  buy  a  drink  with,  and  you  can 
sleep  out  for  six  or  eight  months  of  the  year  with- 
out harm,  but  San  Francisco  doesn't  run  to  free 
baths.  It's  not  an  amusing  life  any  way  you 
look  at  it.  I'm  more  or  less  used  to  things,  but 
if  hurts  me  even  now  to  meet  a  decent  man  who 
knows  something  of  life  in  the  old  country.  I 
was  raised  at  Harrow — ^Harrow,  if  you  please — 
and  I'm  not  five-and- twenty  yet,  and  I  haven't  got 
a  penny,  and  I  haven't  got  a  friend,  and  there  is 
nothing  in  creation  that  I  can  command  except 
a  drink,  and  I  have  to  beg  for  that.  Have  you 
ever  begged  for  a  drink?    It  hurts  3it  first,  but  you 


HER  LITTLE  RESPONSIBILITY       15 

yet  used  to  it.  My  father's  a  parson.  I  don't 
;hink  he  knows  I  beg  drink.  He  lives  near  Salis- 
3ury.  Do  you  know  Salisbury  at  all?  And  then 
there's  my  mother,  too.  But  I  have  not  heard 
^rom  either  of  them  for  a  couple  of  years.  They 
:hink  I'm  in  a  real  estate  officp  in  Washington 
rerritory,  coining  money  hand  over  fist.  If  ever 
^ou  run  across  them — I  suppose  you  will  some 
Jay — there's  the  address.  Tell  them  that  you've 
seen  me,  and  that  I  am  well  and  fit.  Understand? 
—well  and  fit.  I  guess  I'll  be  dead  by  the  time^ 
^ou  see  'em.  That's  hard.  Men  oughtn't  to  die 
it  five-and-twenty — of  drink.  Say,  were  you  ever 
nashed  on  a  girl?  Not  one  of  these  you  see,  girls 
Dut  here,  but  an  English  one — the  sort  of  girl  one 
meets  at  the  Vicarage  tennis-party,  don't  you 
know.  A  girl  of  our  own  set.  I  don't  mean 
[nashed  exactly,  but  dead,  clean  gone,  head  over 
Bars ;  and  worse  than  that  I  was  once,  and  I  fancy 
[  took  the  thing  pretty  much  as  I  take  liquor  now. 
[  didn't  know  when  to  stop.  It  didn't  seem  to 
me  that  there  was  any  reason  for  stopping  in 
affairs  of  that  kind.  I'm  quite  sure  there's  no 
reason  for  stopping  half-way  with  liquor.  Go  the 
whole  hog  and  die.    It's  all  right,  though — I'm  not 


16  ABAFT    THE   FUNNEL 

going  to  get  drunk  here.  Five  in  the  morning  will 
suit  me  just  as  well,  and  I  haven't  the  chance  of 
talking  to  one  of  you  fellows  often.  So  you  cut 
about  in  fine  clothes,  do  you,  and  take  your  drinks 
at  the  best  bars  and  put  up  at  the  Palace?  All 
Englishmen  do.  Well,  here's  luck;  you  may  be 
what  I  am  one  of  these  days.  You'll  find  com- 
panions quite  as  well  raised  as  yourself. 


**  But  about  this  girl.  Don't  do  what  I  did. 
I  fell  in  love  with  her.  She  lived  near  us  in 
Salisbury;  that  was  when  I  had  a  clean  shirt  every 
day  and  hired  horses  to  ride.  One  of  the  guineas 
I  spent  on  that  amusement  would  keep  me  for  a 
week  here.  But  about  this  girl.  I  don't  think 
some  men  ought  to  be  allowed  to  fall  in  love  any 
more  than  they  ought  to  be  allowed  to  taste 
whisky.  She  said  she  cared  for  me.  Used  to  say 
that  about  a  thousand  times  a  day,  with  a  kiss  in 
between.  I  think  about  those  things  now,  and 
they  make  me  nearly  as  drunk  as  the  whisky  does. 
Do  you  know  anything  about  that  love-making 
business?  I  stole  a  copy  of  Cleopatra  off  a  book- 
stall in  Kearney  Street,  and  that  priest-chap  says 


HER  LITTLE  RESPONSIBILITY       17 

a  very  true  thing  about  it.  You  can't  stop  when 
it's  once  started,  and  when  it's  all  over  you  can't 
give  it  up  at  the  word  of  command.  I  forget  the 
precise  language.  That  girl  cared  for  me.  I'd 
give  something  if  she  could  see  me  now.  She 
doesn't  like  men  without  collars  and  odd  boots 
and  somebody  else's  hat;  but  anyhow  she  made  me 
what  I  am,  and  some  day  she'll  know  it.  I  came 
out  here  two  years  ago  to  a  real  estate  office; 
my  father  bought  me  some  sort  of  a  place  in  the 
firm.  We  were  all  Englishmen,  but  we  were  about 
a  match  for  an  average  Yankee;  but  I  forgot  to 
tell  you  I  was  engaged  to  the  girl  before  I  came 
out.  Never  you  make  a  woman  swear  oaths  of 
eternal  constancy.  She'll  break  every  one  of 
them  as  soon  as  her  mind  changes,  and  call  you 
unjust  for  making  her  swear  them.  I  worked 
enough  for  five  men  in  my  first  year.  I  got  a  little 
house  and  lot  in  Tacoma  fit  for  any  woman.  I 
never  drank,  I  hardly  ever  smoked,  I  sold  real 
estate  all  day,  and  wrote  letters  at  night.  She 
wrote  letters,  too,  about  as  full  of  affection  as  they 
make  'em.  You  can  tell  nothing  from  a  woman's 
letter,  though.  If  they  want  to  hide  anything, 
they  just  double   the   *  dears  '   and   '  darlings,' 


18  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

and  then  giggle  when  the  man  fancies  himself 
deceived. 

**  I  don't  suppose  I  was  worse  off  than  hundreds 
of  others,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  she  might  have 
had  the  grace  to  let, me  down  easily.  She  went 
and  got  married.  I  don't  suppose  she  knew  ex- 
actly what  she  was  doing,  because  I  got  the  letters 
just  the  same  six  weeks  after  she  was  married! 
It  was  an  odd  copy  of  an  English  paper  that 
showed  me  what  had  happened.  It  came  in  on 
the  same  day  as  one  of  her  letters,  telling  me  she 
would  be  true  to  the  gates  of  death.  Sounds  like 
a  novel,  doesn't  it!  But  it  did  not  amuse  me  in 
the  least.  I  wasn  't  constructed  to  pitch  the  letters 
into  the  fire  and  pick  up  with  a  Yankee  girl.  I 
wrote  her  a  letter ;  I  rather  wish  I  could  remember 
what  was  in  that  letter.  Then  I  went  to  a  bar  in 
Tacoma  and  had  some  whisky,  about  a  gallon,  I 
suppose.  If  I  had  anything  approaching  to  a 
word  of  honour  about  me,  I  would  give  it  you  that 
I  did  not  know  what  happened  until  I  was  told 
that  my  partnership  with  the  firm  had  been  dis- 
solved, and  that  the  house  and  lot  did  not  belong 
to  me  any  more.  I  would  have  left  the  firm  and 
sold  the  house,  anyhow,  but  the  crash  sobered 


HJEE  LITTLE   RESPONSIBILITY       19 

me  for  about  three  days.  Then  I  started  another 
jamboree.  I  might  have  got  back  after  the  first 
one,  and  been  a  prominent  citizen,  but  the  second 
bust  settled  matters.  Then  I  began  to  slide  on 
the  down-grade  straight  off,  and  here  I  am  now. 
I  could  write  you  a  book  about  what  I  have  come 
through,  if  I  could  remember  it.  The  worst  of 
it  is  I  can  see  that  she  wasn^t  worth  losing  any- 
thing in  life  for,  but  I've  lost  just  everything,  and 
I'm  like  the  priest-chap  in  Cleopatra — I  can't  get 
over  what  I  remember.  If  she  had  let  me  down 
easy,  and  given  me  warning,  I  should  have  been 
awfully  cut  up  for  a  time,  but  I  should  have  pulled 
through.  She  didn't  do  that,  though.  She  lied 
to  me  all  along,  and  married  a  curate,  and  I  dare 
say  she'll  be  a  virtuous  she-vicar  later  on;  but 
the  little  affair  broke  me  dead,  and  if  I  had  more 
whisky  in  me  I  should  be  blubbering  like  a  calf 
all  round  this  Dive.  That  would  have  disgusted 
you,  wouldn't  it?  " 
**  Yes,"  said  L 


A  MENAGEEIE  ABOAED 

TT  was  pyjama  time  on  the  Madura  in  the  Bay 
of  Bengal,  and  the  incense  of  the  very  early 
morning  cigar  went  up  to  the  stainless  skies. 
Every  one  knows  pyjama  time — the  long  hour  that 
follows  the  removal  of  the  beds  from  the  saloon 
skylight  and  the  consumption  of  chota  hazri. 
Most  men  know,  too,  that  the  choicest  stories  of 
many  seas  may  be  picked  up  then — from  the  long- 
winded  histories  of  the  Colonial  sheep-master  to 
the  crisp  anecdotes  of  the  Calif omian ;  from  tales 
of  battle,  murder  and  sudden  death  told  by  the 
Burmah-returned  subaltern,  to  the  bland  drivel  of 
the  globe-trotter.  The  Captain,  tastefully  attired 
in  pale  pink,  sat  up  on  the  signal-gun  and  tossed 
the  husk  of  a  banana  overboard. 

**  It  looked  in  through  my  cabin- window, ' '  said 
he,  **  and  scared  me  nearly  into  a  fit."  We  had 
just  been  talking  about  a  monkey  who  appeared 
to  a  man  in  an  omnibus,  and  haunted  him  till  he 
cut  his  own  throat.     The  apparition,  amid  howls 

20 


A  MENAGEEIE  ABOARD  21 

of  incredulity,  was  said  to  have  been  the  resnlt 
of  excessive  tea-drinking.  The  Captain  ^s  appari- 
tion promised  to  be  better. 

**  It  was  a  menagerie — a  whole  turnout,  lock, 
stock,  and  barrel,  from  the  big  bear  to  the  little 
hippopotamus;  and  you  can  guess  the  size  of  it 
from  the  fact  that  they  paid  us  a  thousand  pounds 
in  freight  only.  We  got  them  all  accommodated 
somewhere  forward  among  the  deck  passengers, 
and  they  whooped  up  terribly  all  along  the  ship 
for  two  or  three  days.  Among  other  things,  such 
as  panthers  and  leopards,  there  were  sixteen  gi- 
raffes, and  we  moored  'em  fore  and  aft  as  securely 
as  might  be;  but  you  can't  get  a  purchase  on  a 
giraffe  somehow.  He  slopes  back  too  much  from 
the  bows  to  the  stern.  We  were  running  up  the 
Red  Sea,  I  think,  and  the  menagerie  fairly  quiet. 
One  night  I  went  to  my  cabin  not  feeling  well. 
About  midnight  I  was  waked  by  something  breath- 
ing on  my  face.  I  was  quite  calm  and  collected, 
for  I  had  got  it  into  my  head  that  it  was  one  of 
the  panthers,  or  at  least  the  bear;  and  I  reached 
back  to  the  rack  behind  me  for  a  revolver.  Then 
the  head  began  to  slide  against  my  cabin — all 
across  it — and  I  said  to  myself:  *  It's  the  big 


22  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

python.'  But  I  looked  into  his  eyes — they  were 
beautiful  eyes — and  saw  it  was  one  of  the  giraffes. 
Tell  you,  though,  a  giraffe  has  the  eyes  of  a  sor- 
rowful nun,  and  this  creature  was  just  brimming 
over  with  liquid  tenderness.  The  seven-foot 
neck  rather  spoilt  the  effect,  but  I'll  always  recol- 
lect those  eyes.'' 

"  Say,  did  you  kiss  the  critter?  "  demanded  the 
orchid-hunter  en  route  to  Siam. 

**  No;  I  remembered  that  it  was  darn  valuable, 
and  I  didn't  want  to  lose  freight  on  it.  I  was 
afraid  it  would  break  its  neck  drawing  its  head 
out  of  my  window — I  had  a  big  deck  cabin,  of 
course — so  I  shoved  it  out  softly  like  a  hen,  and 
the  head  slid  out,  with  those  Mary  Magdalene  eyes 
following  me  to  the  last.  Then  I  heard  the  quar- 
termaster calling  on  heaven  and  earth  for  his  lost 
giraffe,  and  then  the  row  began  all  up  and  down 
the  decks.  The  giraffe  had  sense  enough  to  duck 
its  head  to  avoid  the  awnings — ^we  were  awned 
from  bow  to  stern — ^but  it  clattered  about  like  a 
sick  cow,  the  quartermaster  jumping  after  it,  and 
it  swinging  its  long  neck  like  a  flail.  *  Catch  it, 
and  hold  it !  '  said  the  quartermaster.  *  Catch  a 
typhoon/  said  I.    '  She's  going  overboard.'    The 


A  MENAGERIE  ABOARD  23 

spotted  fool  had  heaved  one  foot  over  the  stern 
railings  and  was  trying  to  get  the  other  to  follow. 
It  was  so  happy  at  getting  its  head  into  the  open 
I  thought  it  would  have  crowed — I  don't  know 
whether  giraffes  crow,  but  it  heaved  up  its  neck 
for  all  the  world  like  a  crowing  cock.  *  Come  back 
to  your  stable, '  yelled  the  quartermaster,  grabbing 
hold  of  the  brute's  tail. 

**  I  was  nearly  helpless  with  laughing,  though 
I  knew  if  the  concern  went  over  it  would  be  no 
laughing  matter  for  me.  Well,  by  good  luck  she 
came  round — the  quartermaster  was  a  strong  man 
at  a  rope's  end.  First  of  all  she  slewed  her  neck 
round,  and  I  could  see  those  tender,  loving  eyes 
under  the  stars  sort  of  saying:  *  Cruel  man! 
What  are  you  doing  to  my  tail?  '  Then  the  foot 
came  on  board,  and  she  bumped  herself  up  under 
the  awning,  looking  ready  to  cry  with  disappoint- 
ment. The  funniest  thing  was  she  didn't  make 
any  noise — a  pig  would  ha'  roused  the  ship  in 
no  time — only  every  time  she  dropped  her  foot  on 
the  deck  it  was  like  firing  a  revolver,  the  hoofs 
clicked  so.  We  headed  her  towards  the  bows, 
back  to  her  moorings — ^just  like  a  policeman  show- 
ing a  short-sighted  old  woman  over  a  crossing. 


24  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

The  quartermaster  sweated  and  panted  and  swore, 
but  she  never  said  anything — only  whacked  her 
old  head  despairingly  against  the  awning  and  the 
funnel  ease.  Her  feet  woke  up  the  whole  ship, 
and  by  the  time  we  had  her  fairly  moored  fore 
and  aft  the  population  in  their  night-gear  were 
giving  us  advice.  Then  we  took  up  a  yard  or 
two  in  all  the  moorings  and  turned  in.  No  other 
animal  got  loose  that  voyage,  though  the  old  lady 
looked  at  me  most  reproachfully  every  time  I  came 
that  way,  and  '  YouVe  blasted  my  young  and 
tender  innocence  '  was  the  expression  of  her  eyes. 
It  was  all  the  quartermaster's  fault  for  hauling 
her  tail.  I  wonder  she  didn't  kick  him  open. 
Well,  of  course,  that  isn't  much  of  a  yarn,  but 
I  remember  once,  in  the  city  of  Venice,  we  had  a 
Malayan  tapir  loose  on  the  deck,  and  we  had  to 
lasso  him.     It  was  this  way  ' ' : 

**  Guzl  thyar  hai/'  said  the  steward,  and  I  fled 
down  the  companion  and  missed  the  tale  of  the 
tapir. 


A  SMOKE  OF  MANILA 

rpHE  man  from  Manila  held  the  floor.  **  Much 
"■•  care  had  made  him  very  lean  and  pale  and 
hollow-eyed."  Added  to  which  he  smoked  the 
cigars  of  his  own  country,  and  they  were  bad  for 
the  constitution.  He  foisted  his  Stinkadores  Mag- 
nificosas  and  his  Cuspidores  Imperiallissimos  up- 
on all  who  would  accept  them,  and  wondered  that 
the  recipients  of  his  bounty  turned  away  and  were 
sad.  **  There  is  nothing,''  said  he,  **  like  a  Ma- 
nila cigar."  And  the  pink  pyjamas  and  blue  py- 
jamas and  the  spotted  green  pyjamas,  all  flutter- 
ing gracefully  in  the  morning  breeze,  vowed  that 
there  was  not  and  never  would  be. 

**  Do  the  Spaniards  smoke  these  vile  brands  to 
any  extent?  "  asked  the  Young  Gentleman  travel- 
ling for  Pleasure  as  he  inspected  a  fresh  box  of 
Oysters  of  the  East.  **  Smoke  'em!  "  said  the 
man  from  Manila;  ^^  they  do  nothing  else  day 
and  night."  **  Ah!  "^  said  the  Young  Gentleman 
travelling  for  Pleasure,  in  the  low  voice  of  one 
25 


26  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

who  has  received  mortal  injury,  **  that  accounts 
for  the  administration  of  the  country  being  what 
it  is.  After  a  man  has  tried  a  couple  of  these 
things  he  would  be  ready  for  any  crime/' 

The  man  from  Manila  took  no  heed  of  the  in- 
sult. **  I  knew  a  case  once/'  said  he,  **  when  a 
cigar  saved  a  man  from  the  sin  of  burglary  and 
landed  him  in  quod  for  five  years.''  **  Was  he 
trying  to  kill  the  man  who  gave  him  the  cigar?  " 
said  the  Young  Gentleman  travelling  for  Pleasure. 
**  No,  it  was  this  way:  My  firm's  godowns  stand 
close  to  a  creek.  That  is  to  to  say,  the  creek 
washes  one  face  of  them,  and  there  are  a  few 
things  in  those  godowns  that  might  be  useful  to 
a  man,  such  as  piece-goods  and  cotton  prints — 
perhaps  ^ve  thousand  dollars '  worth.  I  happened 
to  be  walking  through  the  place  one  day  when, 
for  a  miracle,  I  was  not  smoking.  That  was  two 
years  ago."  **  Great  Caesar!  then  he  has  been 
smoking  ever  since !  ' '  murmured  the  Young  Gen- 
tleman travelling  for  Pleasure. 

**  Was  not  smoking,"  continued  the  man  from 
Manila.  **  I  had  no  business  in  the  godowns. 
They  were  a  short  cut  to  my  house.  When  half- 
way through  them  I  fancied  I  saw  a  little  curl 


A  SMOKE  OF  MANILA  27 

of  smoke  rising  from  behind  one  of  the  bales. 
We  stack  our  bales  on  low  saddles,  much  as  ricks 
are  stacked  in  England.  My  first  notion  was  to 
yell.  I  object  to  fire  in  godowns  on  principle.  It 
is  expensive,  whatever  the  insurance  may  do. 
Luckily  I  sniffed  before  I  shouted,  and  I  sniffed 
good  tobacco  smoke."  **  And  this  was  in  Manila, 
you  say?  "  interrupted  the  Young  Gentleman 
travelling  for  Pleasure. 

*  *  Yes,  in  the  only  place  in  the  world  where  you 
get  good  tobacco.  I  knew  we  had  no  bales  of  the 
w^eed  in  stock,  and  I  suspected  that  a  man  who  got 
behind  print  bales  to  finish  his  cigar  might  be 
worth  looking  up.  I  walked  between  the  bales  till 
I  reached  the  smoke.  It  was  coming  from  the 
ground  under  one  of  the  saddles.  That's  enough, 
I  thought,  and  I  went  away  to  get  a  couple  of  the 
Guarda  Civile — policemen,  in  fact.  I  knew  if  there 
was  anything  to  be  extracted  from  my  friend 
the  bobbies  would  do  it.  A  Spanish  policeman 
carries  in  the  day-time  nothing  more  than  a  six- 
shooter  and  machete,  a  dirk.  At  night  he  adorns 
himself  with  a  repeating  rifle,  which  he  fires  on 
the  slightest  provocation.  Well,  when  the  police- 
men arrived,  they  poked  my  friend  out  of  his  hid- 


28  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

ing-place  with  their  dirks,  hauled  him  out  by  the 
hair,  and  kicked  him  round  the  godown  once  or 
twice,  just  to  let  him  know  that  he  had  been  dis- 
covered. They  then  began  to  question  him,  and 
under  gentle  pressure — I  thought  he  would  be 
pulped  into  a  jelly,  but  a  Spanish  policeman  al- 
ways knows  when  to  leave  off — he  made  a  clean 
breast  of  the  whole  business.  He  was  part  of  a 
gang,  and  was  to  lie  in  the  godown  all  that  night. 
At  twelve  o^clock  a  boat  manned  by  his  confeder- 
ates was  to  drop  down  the  creek  and  halt  under 
the  godown  windows,  while  he  was  to  hand  out 
our  bales.  That  was  their  little  plan.  He  had 
lain  there  about  three  hours,  and  then  he  began 
to  smoke.  I  don't  think  he  noticed  what  he  was 
doing:  smoking  is  just  like  breathing  to  a  Span- 
iard. He  could  not  understand  how  he  had  be- 
trayed himself  and  wanted  to  know  whether  he 
had  left  a  leg  sticking  out  under  the  saddles. 
Then  the  Guarda  Civile  lambasted  him  all  over 
again  for  trifling  with  the  majesty  of  the  law,  and 
removed  him  after  full  confession. 

*  *  I  put  one  of  my  own  men  under  a  saddle  with 
instructions  to  hand  out  print  bales  to  anybody 
who  might  ask  for  them  in  the  course  of  the  night. 


A  SMOKE  OF  MANILA  29 

Meantime  the  police  made  their  own  arrange- 
ments, which  were  very  comprehensive. 

**  At  midnight  a  lumbering  old  barge,  big 
enough  to  hold  about  a  hundred  bales,  came  down 
the  creek  and  pulled  up  under  the  godown  win- 
dows, exactly  as  if  she  had  been  one  of  my  own 
barges.  The  eight  ruffians  in  her  whistled  all 
the  national  airs  of  Manila  as  a  signal  to  the  con- 
federate, then  cooling  his  heels  in  the  lock-up. 
But  my  man  was  ready.  He  opened  the  window 
and  held  quite  a  long  confab  with  these  second- 
hand pirates.  They  were  all  half-breeds  and  Eo- 
man  Catholics,  and  the  way  they  called  upon  all 
the  blessed  saints  to  assist  them  in  their  work  was 
edifying.  My  man  began  tilting  out  the  bales 
quite  as  quickly  as  the  confederate  would  have 
done.  Only  he  stopped  to  giggle  now  and  again, 
and  they  spat  and  swore  at  him  like  cats.  That 
made  him  worse,  and  at  last  he  dropped  yelling 
with  laughter  over  the  half  door  of  the  godown 
goods  window.  Then  one  boat  came  up  stream 
and  another  down  stream,  and  caught  the  barge 
stem  and  stern.  Four  Guarda  Civiles  were  in 
each  boat;  consequently,  eight  repeating  rifles 
were  pointed  at  the  barge,  which  was  very  nicely 


30  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

loaded  with  our  bales.  The  pirates  called  on  the 
saints  more  fluently  than  ever,  threw  up  their 
hands,  and  threw  themselves  on  their  stomachs. 
That  was  the  safest  attitude,  and  it  gave  them  the 
chance  of  cursing  their  luck,  the  barge,  the  go- 
down,  the  Guarda  Civile,  and  every  saint  in  the 
calendar.  They  cursed  the  saints  most,  for  the 
Guarda  Civile  thumped  'em  when  their  remarks 
became  too  personal.  We  made  them  put  all  the 
bales  back  again.  Then  they  were  handed  over 
to  justice  and  got  five  years  apiece.  If  they  had 
any  dollars  they  would  get  out  the  next  day.  If 
they  hadn't,  they  would  serve  their  full  time  and 
no  ticket-of -leave  allowed.  That's  the  whole 
story." 

*  *  And  the  only  case  on  record, ' '  said  the  Young 
Gentleman  travelling  for  Pleasure,  **  where  a 
Manila  cigar  was  of  any  use  to  any  one."  The 
man  from  Manila  lit  a  fresh  Cuspidore  and  went 
down  to  his  bath. 


THE  EED  LAMP 

"  A   STEONG     situation— very     strong,     sir— 
-^"^  quite  the  strongest  one  in  the  play,  in  fact.'' 
^*  What  play?  "  said  a  voice  from  the  bottom  of 
the  long  chair  under  the  bulwarks. 
**  The  Red  Lamp.'' 
''  Oh!  " 

Conversation  ceased,  and  there  was  an  indus- 
trious sucking  of  cheroots  for  the  space  of  half 
an  hour  before  the  company  adjourned  to  the  card- 
room.  It  was  decidedly  a  night  for  sleeping  on 
deck — ^warm  as  the  Red  Sea  and  more  moist  than 
Bengal.  Unfortunately,  every  square  foot  of  the 
deck  seemed  to  be  occupied  by  earlier  comers,  and 
in  despair  I  removed  myself  to  the  extreme 
fo'c'sle,  where  the  anchor-chains  churn  rust-dyed 
water  from  the  hawseholes  and  the  lascars  walk 
about  with  slushpots. 

The  throb  of  the  engines  reached  this  part  of 
the  world  as  a  muffled  breathing  which  might  be 
easily  mistaken  for  the  snoring  of  the  ship's  cow. 

31 


32  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

Occasionally  one  of  the  fowls  in  the  coops  waked 
and  cheeped  dismally  as  she  thought  of  to-mor- 
row's entrees  in  the  saloon,  but  otherwise  all  was 
very,  very  still,  for  the  hour  was  two  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  the  crew  of  a  ship  are  not  disposed  to 
be  lively.  None  came  to  bear  me  company  save 
the  bo 'sun's  pet  kittens,  and  they  were  impolite. 
From  where  I  lay  I  could  look  over  the  whole 
length  of  awning,  ghostly  white  in  the  dark,  and 
by  their  constant  fluttering  judged  that  the  ship 
was  pitching  considerably.  The  fo'c'sle  swung 
up  and  down  like  an  uneasy  hydraulic  lift,  and  a 
few  showers  of  spray  found  their  passage  through 
the  hawseholes  from  time  to  time. 

Have  you  ever  felt  that  maddening  sense  of  in- 
competence which  follows  on  watching  the  work  of 
another  man's  office?  The  civilian  is  at  home 
among  his  despatch-boxes  and  files  of  pending 
cases.  **  How  in  the  world  does  he  do  it?  "  asks 
the  military  man.  The  budding  officer  can  ar- 
range for  the  movements  of  two  hundred  men 
across  country.  ^^  Incomprehensible!  "  says  the 
civilian.  And  so  it  is  with  all  alien  employs  from 
our  own.  So  it  was  with  me.  I  knew  that 
I  was  lying  among  all  the  materials  out  of  which 


THE  BED  LAMP  33 

Clark  Eussell  builds  his  books  of  the  sea — ^the  rush 
through  the  night,  the  gouts  of  foam,  the  singing 
of  the  wind  in  the  rigging  overhead,  and  the  black 
mystery  of  the  water — ^but  for  the  life  of  me  I 
could  make  nothing  of  them  all. 

^^  A  topsail  royal  flying  free 
A  hit  of  canvas  was  to  me, 
And  it  was  nothing  more/' 

**  Oh,  that  a  man  should  have  but  one  poor  little 
life  and  one  incomplete  set  of  experiences  to 
crowd  into  it!  ''  I  sighed  as  the  bells  of  the  ship 
lulled  me  to  sleep  and  the  lookout  man  crooned 
a  dreary  song. 

I  slept  far  into  the  night,  for  the  clouds  gathered 
over  the  sky,  the  stars  died  out  and  all  grew  as 
black  as  pitch.  But  we  never  slackened  speed ;  we 
beat  the  foam  to  left  and  right  with  clanking  of 
chains,  rattling  of  bowports,  and  savage  noises  of 
ripping  and  rending  from  the  cutwater  ploughing 
up  to  the  luminous  sea-beasts.  I  was  roused  by 
the  words  of  the  man  in  the  smoking-room:  ^*  A 
strong  situation,  sir,  very  strong — quite  the 
strongest  in  the  play,  in  fact — The  Bed  Lamp, 
y'  know." 


34  ABAFT    THE   FUNNEL 

I  thought  over  the  sentence  lazily  for  a  tune, 
and  then — surely  there  was  a  red  lamp  in  the  air 
somewhere — an  intolerable  glare  that  singed  the 
shut  eyelids.  I  opened  my  eyes  and  looked  for- 
ward. The  lascar  was  asleep,  his  face  bowed  on 
his  knees,  though  he  ought  to  have  been  roused  by 
the  hum  of  a  rapidly  approaching  city,  by  the 
noises  of  men  and  women  talking  and  laughing 
and  drinking.  I  could  hear  it  not  half  a  mile 
away:  it  was  strange  that  his  ears  should  be 
closed. 

The  night  was  so  black  that  one  could  hardly 
breathe ;  and  yet  where  did  the  glare  from  the  red 
lamp  come  from?  Not  from  our  ship:  she  was 
silent  and  asleep — the  officers  on  the  bridge  were 
asleep;  there  was  no  one  of  four  hundred  souls 
awake  but  myself.  And  the  glare  of  the  red  lamp 
went  up  to  the  zenith.  Small  wonder.  A  quarter 
of  a  mile  in  front  of  us  rolled  a  big  steamer  under 
full  steam,  and  she  was  heading  down  on  us  with- 
out a  word  of  warning.  Would  the  lookout  man 
never  look  out?  Would  their  crew  be  as  fast 
asleep  as  ours?  It  was  impossible,  for  the  other 
ship  hummed  with  populous  noises,  and  there  was 
the  defiant  tinkle  of  a  piano  rising  above  all.     She 


THE  EED  LAMP  35 

should  have  altered  her  course,  or  blown  a  fog- 
horn. 

I  held  my  breath  while  an  eternity  went  by, 
counted  out  by  the  throbbing  of  my  heart  and 
the  engines.  I  knew  that  it  was  my  duty  to  call, 
but  I  knew  also  that  no  one  could  hear  me.  More- 
over, I  was  intensely  interested  in  the  approach- 
ing catastrophe;  interested,  you  will  understand, 
as  one  whom  it  did  in  no  wise  concern.  By  the 
light  of  the  luminous  sea  thrown  forward  in  sheets 
under  the  forefoot  of  the  advancing  steamer  I 
could  discern  the  minutest  details  of  her  structure 
from  cat-head  to  bridge.  Abaft  the  bridge  she 
was  crowded  with  merrymakers — seemed  to  be, 
in  fact,  a  P.  &  0.  vessel  given  up  to  a  ball.  I 
wondered  as  I  leaned  over  the  bulwarks  what 
they  would  say  when  the  crash  came — ^whether 
they  would  shriek  very  loudly — ^whether  the  men 
and  women  would  try  to  rush  to  our  decks,  or 
whether  we  would  rush  on  to  theirs.  It  would 
not  matter  in  the  least,  for  at  the  speed  we  were 
driving  both  vessels  would  go  down  together 
locked  through  the  deeps  of  the  sea.  It  occurred 
to  me  then  that  the  sea  would  be  cold,  and  that 
instead  of  choking  decently  I  might  be  one  in  a 


36  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

mad  rush  for  the  boats — might  be  crippled  by  a 
falling  spar  or  wrenched  plate  and  left  on  the 
heeling  decks  to  die.  Then  Terror  came  to  me — 
Fear,  gross  and  overwhelming  as  the  bulk  of  the 
night — Despair  unrelieved  by  a  single  ray  of  hope. 
We  were  not  fifty  yards  apart  when  the  pas- 
sengers on  the  stranger  caught  sight  of  us  and 
shrieked  aloud.  I  saw  a  man  pick  up  his  child 
from  one  of  the  benches  and  futilely  attempt  to 
climb  the  rigging.  Then  we  closed — ^her  name- 
plate  ten  feet  above  ours,  looking  down  into  our 
forehatch.  I  heard  the  grinding  as  of  a  hundred 
querns,  the  ripping  of  the  tough  bow-plates,  and 
the  pistol-like  report  of  displaced  rivets  followed 
by  the  rush  of  the  sea.  We  were  sinking  in  mid- 
ocean. 

*  *  *  *  *  ^  * 

*^  Beg  y'  pardon,''  said  the  quartermaster,  shak- 
ing me  by  the  arm,  *^  but  you  must  have  been 
sleeping  in  the  moonlight  for  the  last  two  hours, 
and  that's  not  good  for  the  eyes.  Didn't  seem 
to  make  you  sleep  easy,  either."  I  opened  my 
eyes  heavily.  My  face  was  swollen  and  aching, 
for  on  my  forehead  lay  the  malignant  splendour 
of  the  moon.     The  glare  of  the  Eed  Lamp  had 


THE  RED  LAMP  37 

vanished  with  the  brilliantly-lighted  ship,  but  the 
ghastly  shrieks  of  her  drowning  crew  continued. 

''  What's  that?  ''  I  asked  tremulously  of  the 
quartermaster.     **  Was  it  real?  '^ 

**  Pork  chops  in  the  saloon  to-morrow,"  said 
the  quartermaster.  *'  The  butcher  he  got  up  at 
four  bells  to  put  the  old  squeaker  out  of  the  way. 
Them's  his  dying  ejaculations.'* 


THE  SHADOW  OF  HIS  HAND 

* '  T  COME  from  San  Jose, ' '  lie  said.  ' '  San  Jose, 
Calaveras  County,  California:  that's  my 
place.''  I  pricked  up  my  ears  at  the  mention  of 
Calaveras  County.  Bret  Harte  has  made  that 
sacred  ground. 

**  Yes?  "  said  I  politely.  Always  be  polite  to 
a  gentleman  from  Calaveras  County.  For  aught 
you  know  he  may  be  a  lineal  descendant  of  the 
great  Colonel  Starbottle. 

*'  Did  you  ever  know  Vermilyea  of  San  Luis 
Obispo?  "  continued  the  stranger,  chewing  the 
plug  of  meditation. 

*  *  No, ' '  said  I.  Heaven  alone  knows  where  lies 
San  Luis  Obispo,  but  I  was  not  going  to  expose 
my  ignorance.  Besides,  there  might  be  a  story 
at  the  back  of  it  all.  '^  What  was  the  special 
weakness  of  Mister  Vermilyea!  " 

*  *  Vermilyea !  He  weak !  Lot  Vermilyea  never 
had  a  weakness  that  you  might  call  a  weakness 
until  subsequent  events  transpired.     Then  that 


THE   SHADOW   OF  HIS  HAND        39 

weakness  developed  into  White  Rye.  All  West- 
erners drink  White  Rye.  On  the  Eastern  coast 
they  drink  Bourbon.  Lot  tried  both  when  his 
heart  was  broken.     Both — by  the  quart.'' 

**  D'you  happen  to  remember  what  broke  his 
heart?  ''  I  said. 

^*  This  must  be  your  first  trip  to  the  States, 
sir,  or  you  would  know  that  Lot's  heart  was  broken 
by  his  father-in-law.  Lot's  congregation — ^he 
took  to  Religion — always  said  that  he  had  no  busi- 
ness fooling  with  a  father-in-law.  A  good  many 
other  people  said  that  too.  But  I  always  adhered 
to  Lot.  ^  Why  don't  you  kill  the  animal,  Lot?  ' 
I  used  to  say.  *  I  can't.  He's  the  father  of  my 
wife,'  Lot  used  to  say.  *  Loan  him  money  then 
and  settle  him  on  the  other  side  of  the  States,'  I 
used  to  say.  *  The  old  clam  won 't  move, '  Lot  used 
to  say." 

**  Half  a  minute.  What  was  the  actual  trouble 
between  Vermilyea  and  his  father-in-law?  Did 
he  borrow  money?  " 

**  I'm  coming  to  that,"  said  the  stranger  calmly. 
**  It  arrived  this  way.  Lot  had  a  notion  to  get 
married.  Some  men  get  that  idea.  He  went  to 
'Frisco  and  pawned  out  his  heart — ^Lot  had  a  most 


40  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

feeling  heart,  and  that  was  his  niin — to  a  girl 
who  lived  at  back  of  Kearney  Street.  IVe  for- 
gotten her  given  name,  but  the  old  man's  name 
was  Dougherty.  Guess  he  was  a  naturalised 
Irishman.  The  old  man  did  not  see  the  merits 
of  Lot  when  he  went  sparking  after  the  girl  even' 
ings.  He  fired  Lot  out  off  the  stoop  three  or 
four  times.  Lot  didn't  hit  him  because  hp  was 
fond  of  the  daughter.  He  just  quit  like  a  lamb; 
the  old  man  welting  into  him  with  anything  that 
came  handy — sticks  and  besoms,  and  such.  Lot 
endured  that,  being  a  tough  man.  Every  time  Lot 
was  fired  out  he  would  wait  till  the  old  man  was 
pretty  well  pumped  out.  Then  he  used  to  turn 
round  and  say,  ^  When's  the  wedding  to  be?  ' 
Dougherty  used  to  ramp  round  Lot  while  the  girl 
hid  herself  till  the  breeze  abated.  He  had  a 
peculiar  aversion  to  domiciliary  visits  from  Lot, 
had  Dougherty.  I've  my  own  theory  on  the  sub- 
ject. I'll  explain  it  later  on.  At  last  Dougherty 
got  tired  of  Lot  and  his  peacefulness.  The  girl 
stuck  to  him  for  all  she  was  worth.  Lot  never 
budged.  '  If  you  want  to  marry  her,'  said  the 
old  man,  *  just  drop  your  long-suffering  for  half 
an  hour.     Stand  up  to  me.  Lot,  and  we'll  run 


THE   SHADOW   OF  HIS  HAND        41 

this  thing  through  with  our  hands.'  *  If  I  must, 
I  must,'  said  Lot,  and  with  that  they  began  the 
argument  up  and  down  the  parlour  floor.  Lot  he 
was  fighting  for  his  wife.  He  set  considerable 
v^alue  on  the  girl.  The  old  man  he  was  fighting 
for  the  fun  of  the  affair.  Lot  whipped.  He 
tiandled  the  old  man  tenderly  out  of  regard  for 
[lis  connections.  All  the  same  he  fixed  him  up 
pretty  thoroughly.  When  he  crawled  off  the  old 
[nan  he  had  received  his  permission  to  marry  the 
^irl.  Old  man  Dougherty  ran  round  'Frisco  ad- 
i^ertising  Lot  for  the  tallest  fighter  in  the  town. 
Lot  was  a  respectable  sort  of  man  and  considera- 
ble absorbed  in  preparing  for  his  wedding.  It 
iidn't  please  him  any  to  receive  invitations  from 
the  boss  fighting  men  of  'Frisco — professional  in- 
vitations, you  must  understand.  I  guess  he  cussed 
the  father-in-law  to  be. 

*  *  When  he  was  married,  he  concluded  to  locate 
in  'Frisco,  and  started  business  there.  A  mar- 
ried man  don't  keep  his  muscle  up  any.  Old  man 
Dougherty  he  must  have  counted  on  that.  By  the 
time  Lot's  first  child  was  born  he  came  around 
suffering  for  a  fight.  He  painted  Lot's  house 
srimson.     Lot  endured  that.     He  got  a  hold  of 


42  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

the  baby  and  began  yanking  it  around  by  the  legs 
to  see  if  it  could  squeal  worth  listening  to.  Lot 
stretched  him.  Old  man  howled  with  delight.  Lot 
couldn't  well  hand  his  father-in-law  over  to  the 
police,  so  they  had  it,  knuckle  and  tooth,  all  round 
the  front  floor,  and  the  old  man  he  quit  by  the 
window,  considerably  mashed  up.  Lot  was  fair 
spent,  not  having  kept  up  his  muscle.  My  notion 
is  that  old  man  Dougherty  being  a  boss  fighter 
couldn't  get  his  fighting  regularly  till  Lot  married 
into  the  family.  Then  he  reckoned  on  a  running 
discussion  to  warm  up  his  bones.  Lot  was  too 
fond  of  his  wife  to  disoblige  him.  Any  man  in 
his  senses  would  have  brought  the  old  man  before 
the  courts,  or  clubbed  him,  or  laid  him  out  stiff. 
But  Lot  was  always  tender-hearted. 

**  Soon  as  old  man  Dougherty  got  his  senses 
together  ofP  the  pavement,  he  argued  that  Lot  was 
considerable  less  of  a  fighter  than  he  had  been. 
That  pleased  the  old  man.  He  swas  plastered  and 
caulked  up  by  the  doctors,  and  as  soon  as  he 
could  move  he  interviewed  Lot  and  made  remarks. 
Lot  didn't  much  care  what  he  said,  but  when  he 
came  to  casting  reflections  on  the  parentage  of 
the  baby,  Lot  shut  the  office  door  and  played 


THE   SHADOW   OF  HIS  HAND       43 

onnd  for  half  an  hour  till  the  walls  glittered  like 
he  evening  sun.  Old  man  Dougherty  crawled 
•ut,  but  he  crowed  as  he  crawled.  *  Praise  the 
ilessed  saints,'  he  said,  *  I  kin  get  my  fighting 
Jong  o'  my  meals.  Lot,  ye  have  prolonged  my 
ife  a  century.' 

**  Guess  Lot  would  like  to  see  him  dead  now. 
le  is  an  old  man,  but  most  amazing  tough.  He 
las  been  fighting  Lot  for  a  matter  of  three  years. 
i  Lot  made  a  lucky  bit  of  trade,  the  old  man 
rould  come  along  and  fight  him  for  luck.  If  Lot 
ost  a  little,  the  old  man  would  fight  him  to  teach 
dm  safe  speculation.  It  took  all  Lot's  time  to 
:eep  even  with  him.  No  man  in  business  can 
tend  his  business  and  fight  in  streaks.  Lot's 
rade  fell  off  every  time  he  laid  himself  out  to 
itretch  the  old  man.  Worst  of  it  was  that  when 
Jot  was  made  a  Deacon  of  his  church,  the  old  man 
'ought  him  most  terrible  for  the  honour  of  the 
iJoman  Catholic  Church.  Lot  whipped,  of  course. 
3e  always  whipped.  Old  man  Doigherty  went 
•ound  among  the  other  Deacons  and  lauded  Lot 
for  a  boss  pugilist,  not  meaning  to  hurt  Lot's 
prospects.  Lot  had  to  explain  the  situation  to 
;he  church  in  general.    They  accepted  it. 


44  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

*^  Old  man  Dougherty  he  fought  on.  Age  had 
no  effect  on  him.  Lot  always  whipped,  but  noth- 
ing would  satisfy  the  old  man.  Lot  shook  all 
his  teeth  out  till  his  gums  were  as  bare  as 
a  sand-bar.  Old  man  Dougherty  came  along 
lisping  his  invitation  to  the  dance.  They 
fought. 

*'  When  Lot  shifted  to  San  Luis  Obispo,  old 
man  Dougherty  he  came  along  too — craving  for 
his  fight.  It  was  cocktails  and  plug  to  him.  It 
grew  on  him.  Lot  handled  him  too  gently  be- 
cause of  the  wife.  The  old  man  could  come  to 
the  scratch  once  a  month,  and  always  at  the  most 
inconvenient  time.     They  fought. 

**  Last  I  heard  of  Lot  he  was  sinking  into  the 
tomb.  *  It 's  not  the  fighting, '  he  said  to  me.  *  It's 
the  darned  monotony  of  the  circus.  He  knows 
I  can  whip  him,  but  he  won't  rest  satisfied.  *  Lay 
him  out.  Lot,'  said  I;  *  fracture  his  cranium  or 
gouge  him.  This  show  is  foolish  all  round.'  *  I 
can't  lay  him  out,'  said  Lot.  *  He's  my  father- 
in-law.  But  don't  it  strike  you  I've  a  deal  to 
be  thankful  for?  If  he  had  been  a  Jew  he'd  have 
fought  on  Sundays  when  I  was  doing  Deacon. 
I've  been  too  gentle  with  him;  the  old  man  knows 


THE   SHADOW   OF   HIS   HAND       45 

my  soft  place,  but  IVe  a  deal  to  be  thankful 
for.' 

'*  Strikes  me  that  thankfulness  of  Lot's  sort 
is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  cussed  affectation. 
Say!" 

I  said  nothing. 


A  LITTLE  MORE  BEEF 

'\\  LITTLE  more  beef,  please/'  said  the  fat 
"^  man  with  the  grey  whiskers  and  the  spat- 
tered waistcoat.  *'  You  can't  eat  too  much  o' 
good  beef — ^not  even  when  the  prices  are  going  up 
hoof  over  hock."  And  he  settled  himself  down 
to  load  in  a  fresh  cargo. 

Now,  this  is  how  the  fat  man  had  come  by  his 
meal.  One  thousand  miles  away,  a  red  Texan 
steer  was  preparing  to  go  to  bed  for  the  night  in 
the  company  of  his  fellows — myriads  of  his  fel- 
lows. From  dawn  till  late  dusk  he  had  loafed 
across  the  leagues  of  grass  and  grunted  savagely 
as  each  mouthful  proved  to  his  mind  that  grass 
was  not  what  he  had  known  it  in  his  youth.  But 
the  steer  was  wrong.  That  summer  had  brought 
great  drought  to  Montana  and  Northern  Dakota. 
The  cattle  feed  was  withering  day  by  day,  and 
the  more  prudent  stock  owners  had  written  to  the 
East  for  manufactured  provender.  Only  the  little 
cactus  that  grows  with  the  grasses  appeared  to 
46 


A  LITTLE  MORE  BEEF  47 

enjoy  itself.'  The  cattle  certainly  did  not;  and 
the  cowboys  from  the  very  beginning  of  spring 
had  used  language  considered  profane  even  for 
the  cowboy.  What  their  ponies  said  has  never 
been  recorded.  The  ponies  had  the  worst  time 
of  all,  and  at  each  nightly  camp  whispered  to 
each  other  their  longings  for  the  winter,  when 
they  would  be  turned  out  on  the  freezing  ranges 
— galled  from  wither  to  croup,  but  riderless — 
thank  Heaven,  riderless.  On  these  various  mis- 
eries the  sun  looked  down  impartial.  His  busi- 
ness was  to  cake  the  ground  and  ruin  the  grasses. 
The  cattle — the  acres  of  huddled  cattle — ^were 
restless.  In  the  first  place,  they  were  forced  to 
scatter  for  graze ;  and  in  the  second,  the  heat  told 
on  their  tempers  and  made  them  prod  each  other 
with  their  long  horns.  In  the  heart  of  the  herd 
you  would  have  thought  men  were  fighting  with 
single-sticks.  On  the  outskirts,  posted  at  quarter- 
mile  intervals,  sat  the  cowboys  on  their  ponies, 
the  brims  of  their  hats  tilted  over  their  sun- 
skumed  noses,  their  feet  out  of  the  big  brown- 
leather  hooded  stirrups,  and  their  hands  gripping 
the  horn  of  the  heavy  saddle  to  keep  themselves 
from  falling  on  to  the  ground — asleep.     A  cow- 


48  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

boy  can  sleep  at  full  gallop;  on  the  other  hand, 
he  can  keep  awake  also  at  full  gallop  for  eight 
and  forty  hours  and  wear  down  six  unamiable 
bronchos  in  the  process. 

Laf e  Parmalee ;  Shwink,  the  German  who  could 
not  ride  but  had  a  blind  affection  for  cattle  from 
the  branding-yard  to  the  butcher's  block;  Michi- 
gan, so  called  because  he  said  he  came  from  Cali- 
fornia but  spoke  not  the  Calif ornian  tongue;  Jim 
from  San  Diego,  to  distinguish  him  from  other 
Jims,  and  The  Corpse,  were  the  outposts  of  the 
herd.  The  Corpse  had  won  his  name  from  a  state- 
ment, made  in  the  fulness  of  much  McBrayer 
whisky,  that  he  had  once  been  a  graduate  of  Cor- 
pus Christi.  He  spoke  truth,  but  to  the  wrong 
audience.  The  inhabitants  of  the  Elite  Saloon, 
after  several  attempts  to  get  the  hang  of  the  name, 
dubbed  the  speaker  The  Corpse,  and  as  long  as 
he  cinched  a  broncho  or  jingled  a  spur  within  four 
hundred  miles  of  Livingston — ^yea,  far  in  the 
south,  even  to  the  unexplored  borders  of  the  sheep- 
eater  Indians — ^he  was  known  by  that  unlovely 
name.  How  he  had  passed  from  college  to  cattle 
no  man  knew,  and,  according  to  the  etiquette  of 
the  West,  no  man  asked.     He  was  not  by  any 


A  LITTLE  MORE  BEEF  49 

means  a  tenderfoot — ^had  no  unmanly  weakness 
for  washing,  did  not  in  the  least  object  to  appear- 
ing at  the  wild  and  wonderful  reunions  held 
nightly  in  **  Miss  Minnie's  parlour,"  whose  flaring 
advertisement  did  not  in  the  least  disturb  the  pro- 
prieties of  Wachoma  Junction,  and,  in  common 
with  his  associates,  was,  when  drunk,  ready  to 
shoot  at  anything  or  anybody.  He  was  not  proud. 
He  had  condescended  to  take  in  hand  and  educate 
a  young  and  promising  Chicago  drummer,  who  by 
evil  fate  had  wandered  into  that  wilderness,  where 
all  his  cunning  was  of  no  account ;  and  from  that 
youth's  quivering  hand — outstretched  by  com- 
mand— had  shot  away  the  top  of  a  wineglass.  The 
Corpse  was  recognised  in  the  freemasonry  of  the 
craft  as  **  one  of  the  C.M.R.'s  boys,  and  tough  at 
that." 

The  C.M.R.  controlled  much  cattle,  and  their 
slaughter-houses  in  Chicago  bubbled  the  blood  of 
beeves  all  day  long.  Their  salt-beef  fed  the  sailor 
on  the  sea,  and  their  iced,  best  firsts,  the  house- 
keeper in  the  London  suburbs.  Not  even  the  firm 
knew  how  many  cowboys  they  employed,  but  all 
the  firm  knew  that  on  the  fourteenth  day  of  July 
their  stockyards  at  Wachoma  Junction  were  to  be 


50  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

filled  with  two  thousand  head  of  cattle,  ready  for 
immediate  shipment  to  Chicago  while  prices  yet 
ruled  high,  and  before  the  grass  had  withered 
utterly.  Lafe,  Michigan,  Jim,  The  Corpse  and  the 
others  knew  this  too,  and  were  heartily  glad  of  it, 
because  they  would  be  paid  up  in  Chicago  for 
their  half-year's  work,  and  would  then  do  their 
best  towards  painting  that  town  in  purest  ver- 
milion. They  would  get  drunk;  they  would  gam- 
ble, and  would  otherwise  enjoy  themselves  till 
they  were  broke;  and  then  they  would  hire  out 
again. 

The  sun  dropped  behind  the  roUuig  hills;  and 
the  cattle  halted  for  the  night,  cheered  and  cooled 
by  a  little  wandering  breeze.  The  red  steer's 
mother  had  been  caught  in  a  hailstorm  five  years 
ago.  Till  she  went  the  way  of  all  cow-flesh  she 
missed  no  opportunity  of  telling  her  son  to  beware 
of  the  hot  day  and  the  cold  wind  that  does  not 
know  its  own  mind.  *  *  When  it  blows  five  ways  at 
once,''  said  she,  '*  and  makes  your  horns  feel 
creepy,  get  away,  my  son.  Follow  the  time- 
honoured  instinct  of  our  tribe,  and  run.  I  ran  " 
— she  looked  ruefully  at  the  scars  on  her  side — 
"  but  that  was  in  a  barb- wire  country,  and  it  hurt 


A  LITTLE  MORE  BEEF  51 

me.  None  the  less,  run."  The  red  steer  chewed 
his  cud,  and  the  little  wind  out  of  the  darkness 
played  round  his  horns — all  five  ways  at  once. 
The  cowboys  lifted  up  their  voices  in  unmelodious 
song,  that  the  cattle  might  know  where  they  were, 
and  began  slowly  walking  round  the  recumbent 
herd.  **  Do  anybody's  horns  feel  creepy? " 
queried  the  red  steer  of  his  neighbours.  **  My 
Diother  told  me  * ' — and  he  repeated  the  tale,  to  the 
edification  of  the  yearlings  and  the  three-year-olds 
breathing  heavily  at  his  side. 

The  song  of  the  cowboys  rose  higher.  The 
cattle  bowed  their  heads.  Their  men  were  at 
hand.  They  were  safe.  Something  had  hap- 
pened to  the  quiet  stars.  They  were  dying  out 
one  by  one,  and  the  wind  was  freshening.  *  *  Bless 
my  hoofs!  ''  muttered  a  yearling,  **  my  horns  are 
beginning  to  feel  creepy."  Softly  the  red  steer 
lifted  himself  from  the  ground.  **  Come  away," 
quoth  he  to  the  yearling.  **  Come  away  to  the 
outskirts,  and  we'll  move.  My  mother  said  ..." 
The  innocent  fool  followed,  and  a  white  heifer 
saw  them  move.  Being  a  woman  she  naturally 
bellowed  **  Timber  wolves!"  and  ran  forward 
blindly  into  a  dun  steer  dreaming  over  clover. 


52  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

Followed  the  thunder  of  cattle  rising  to  their  feet, 
and  the  triple  crack  of  a  whip.  The  little  wind 
had  dropped  for  a  moment,  only  to  fall  on  the 
herd  with  a  shriek  and  a  few  stinging  drops  of 
hail,  that  stung  as  keenly  as  the  whips.  The  herd 
broke  into  a  trot,  a  canter,  and  then  a  mad  gallop. 
Black  fear  was  behind  them,  black  night  in  front. 
They  headed  into  the  night,  bellowing  with  terror ; 
and  at  their  side  rode  the  men  with  the  whips. 
The  ponies  grunted  as  they  felt  the  raking  spurs. 
They  knew  that  an  all-night  gallop  lay  before 
them,  and  woe  betide  the  luckless  cayuse  that 
stumbled  in  that  ride.  Then  fell  the  hail — ^blind- 
ing and  choking  and  jQogging  in  one  and  the  same 
stroke.  The  herd  opened  like  a  fan.  The  red 
steer  headed  a  contingent  he  knew  not  whither. 
A  man  with  a  whip  rode  at  his  right  flank.  Be- 
hind him  the  lightning  showed  a  field  of  glim- 
mering horns,  and  of  muzzles  flecked  with  foam; 
a  field  of  red  terror- strained  eyes  and  shaggy 
frontlets.  The  man  looked  back  also,  and  his 
terror  was  greater  than  that  of  the  beasts.  The 
herd  had  surrounded  him  in  the  darkness.  His 
salvation  lay  in  the  legs  of  Whishy  Peat — and 
Whisky  Peat  knew  it— knew  it  until  an  unseen 


A  LITTLE  MORE  BEEF  53 

yopher  hole  received  his  near  forefoot  as  he 
strained  every  nerve — in  the  heart  of  the  flying 
lerd,  with  the  red  steer  at  his  flanks.  Then,  be- 
ng  only  an  overworked  cayuse,  Whisky  Peat  fell, 
md  the  red  steer  fancied  that  there  was  some- 
;hing  soft  on  the  ground. 


It  was  Michigan,  Jim  and  Lafe  who  at  last 
Drought  the  herd  to  a  standstill  as  the  dawn  was 
Dreaking.  '^  What's  come  to  The  Corpse?  ''  quoth 
Lafe.  Jim  loosened  the  girths  of  his  quivering 
pony  and  made  answer  slowly:  **  Onless  I'm  a 
3lamed  fool,  the  gentleman  is  now  livin'  up  to  his 
iurned  appellation'  bout  fifteen  miles  back — ^what 
there  is  of  him  and  the  cayuse."  ^^  Let's  go  and 
[ook,"  said  Lafe,  shuddering  slightly,  for  the 
noming.  air,  you  must  understand,  was  raw 
*  Let's  go  to — a  much  hotter  place  than  Texas," 
responded  Jim.  ^*  Get  the  steers  to  the  Junction 
first.    Guess  what 's  left  of  The  Corpse  will  keep. ' ' 

And  it  did.  And  that  was  how  the  fat  man  in 
Chicago  got  his  beef.    It  belonged  to  the  red  steer. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  A  FALL 

IVT ERE  English  will  not  do  justice  to  the  event. 
Let  us  attempt  it  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  French.    Thus  and  so  following: 

Listen  to  a  history  of  the  most  painful — and  of 
the  most  true.  You  others,  the  Governors,  the 
Lieutenant-Governors,  and  the  Commissionaires 
of  the  Oriental  Indias. 

It  is  you,  foolishly  outside  of  the  truth  in  prey 
to  illusions  so  blind  that  I  of  them  remain  so 
stupefied — it  is  to  you  that  I  address  myself! 

Know  you  Sir  Cyril  Wollobie,  K.C.S.I.,  C.M.G., 
and  all  the  other  little  things'? 

He  was  of  the  Sacred  Order  of  Yourself — a  man 
responsible  enormously — charged  of  the  conserva- 
tion of  millions^  .   .   . 

Of  people.  That  is  understood.  The  Indian 
Government  conserves  not  its  rupees. 

He  was  the  well-loved  of  kings.  I  have  seen 
the  Viceroy — ^which  is  the  Lorr-Maire — embrace 
him  of  both  arms. 

64 


THE  HISTOEY  OF  A  FALL  55 

That  was  in  Simla.  All  things  are  possible  in 
Simla. 

Even  embraces. 

His  wife!     Mon  Dieu,  his  wife! 

The  aheuried  imagination  prostrates  itself  at 
the  remembrance  of  the  splendours  Orientals  of 
the  Lady  Cyril — the  very  respectable  the  Lady 
WoUobie. 

That  was  in  Simla.  All  things  are  possible  in 
Simla.  Even  wives.  In  those  days  I  was — ^what 
you  call — a  Schnobb.  I  am  now  a  much  larger 
Schnobb.  Voild  the  only  difference.  Thus  it  is 
true  that  travel  expands  the  mind. 

But  let  us  return  to  our  WoUobies. 

I  admired  that  man  there  with  the  both  hands. 
I  crawled  before  the  Lady  Wollobie — platonically. 
The  man  the  most  brave  would  be  only  platonic 
towards  that  lady.  And  I  was  also  afraid.  Sub- 
sequently I  went  to  a  dance.  The  wine  equaled 
not  the  splendour  of  the  Wollobies.  Nor  the 
food.  But  there  was  upon  the  floor  an  open 
space-— large  and  park-like.  It  protected  the  dig- 
nity WoUobicallisme.  It  was  guarded  by  Aides- 
de-Camp.     With  blue  silk  in  their  coat-tails — 


56  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

turned  up.  With  pink  eyes  and  white  moustaches 
to  ravish.     Also  turned  up. 

To  me  addressed  himself  an  Aide-de-Camp. 

That  was  in  Simla.  To-day  I  do  not  speak  tc 
Aides-de-Camp. 

I  confine  myself  exclusively  to  the  cab-drivaire 
He  does  not  know  so  much  bad  language,  but  he 
can  drive  better. 

I  approached,  under  the  protection  of  the  Aide- 
de-Camp,  the  luminosity  of  Sir  Wollobie. 

The  world  entire  regarded. 

The  band  stopped.  The  lights  burned  blue.  A 
domestic  dropped  a  plate. 

It  was  an  inspiring  moment. 

From  the  summit  of  Jakko  forty-five  monkies 
looked  down  upon  the  crisis. 

Sir  Wollobie  spoke. 

To  me  in  that  expanse  of  floor  cultured  and 
park-like.  He  said :  *  *  I  have  long  desired  to  make 
your  acquaintance.'* 

The  blood  bouilloned  in  my  head.  I  became 
pink.  I  was  aneantied  under  the  weight  of  ar 
embarras  insubrimable. 

At  that  moment  Sir  Wollobie  became  oblivious 
of  my  personality.     That  was  his  custom. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  A  FALL  57 

Wiping  my  face  upon  my  coat-tails  I  refugied 
lyself  among  the  f oules. 

I  had  been  spoken  to  by  Sir  Wollobie.  That 
ras  in  Simla.     That  also  is  history. 

Pass  now  several  years.  To  the  day  before 
esterday ! 

This  also  is  history — farcical,  immense,  tragi- 
omic,  but  true. 

Know  you  the  Totnam  Cortrode? 

Here  lives  Maple,  who  sells  washing  appliances 
nd  tables  of  exotic  legs. 

Here  voyages  also  a  Omnibuse  Proletariat. 

That  is  to  say  for  One  penny. 

Two  pence  is  the  refined  volupte  of  the  Aristo- 
rat. 

I  am  of  the  people. 

Entre  nous  the  connection  is  not  desired  by  us. 
^he  people  address  to  me  epithets,  entirely  un- 
rintable.  I  reply  that  they  should  wash.  The 
ituation  is  strained.  Hence  the  Strike  Docks 
nd  the  Demonstrations  Laborious. 

Upon  the  funeste  tumbril  of  the  Proletariat  I 
ake  my  seat. 

I  demand  air  outside  upon  the  roof. 


58  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

I  will  have  all  my  penny. 

The  tumbril  advances. 

A  man  aged  loses  his  equilibrium  and  deposits 
himself  into  my  lap. 

Following  the  custom  of  the  Brutal  Londoner 
I  demand  the  Devil  where  he  shoves  himself. 

He  apologises  supplicatorically. 

I  grunt. 

Encore  the  tumbril  shakes  herself. 

I  appropriate  the  desired  seat  of  the  old 
man. 

The  conductaire  cries  to  loud  voice:  **  Fare, 
Guvnor.'' 

He  produces  one  penny. 

A  reminiscence  phantasmal  provokes  itself. 

I  beat  him  on  the  back. 

It  is  Sir  WoUobie;  the  ex-Everything ! 

Also  the  ex-Everything  else ! 

Figure  you  the  situation! 

He  clasps  my  hand. 

As  a  child  clasps  the  hand  of  its  nurse. 

He  demands  of  me  particular  rensignments  of 
my  health.     It  is  to  him  a  matter  important. 

Other  time  he  regulated  the  health  of  forty-five 
millions. 


THE  HISTOEY  OF  A  FALL  59 

I  riposte.    I  enquire  of  his  liver — ^his  pancreas, 

s  abdomen. 

The  sacred  internals  of  Sir  WoUobie ! 

He  has  them  all.     And  they  all  make  him  ill. 

He  is  very  lonely.      He  speaks  of  his  wife. 

liere  is  no  Lady  Wollobie,  but  a  woman  in  a 

it  in  Bayswater  who  cries  in  her  sleep  for  more 

rricles. 

He  does  not  say  this,  but  I  understand. 

He  derides  the  Council  of  the  Lidian  Office.    He 

iprecates  the  Government. 

He  curses  the  journals. 

He  has  a  clob.     He  curses  that  clob. 

Females  with  teeth  monstrous  explain  to  him 

e  theory  of  Government. 

Men  of  long  hair,  the  psychologues  of  the  paint- 

)ts,  correct  him  tenderly,  but  from  above. 

He  has  known  of  the  actualities  of  life — Death, 

3wer,    Eesponsibility,    Honour — the    Good    ac- 

mplished,  the  effacement  of  Wrong  for  forty 

jars. 

There  remains  to  him  a  seat  in  a  penny  'bus. 

If  I  do  not  take  him  from  that. 

I  rap  my  heels  on  the  knife-board.    I  sing  *'  tra 

la,'*    I  am  also  well  disposed  to  larmes. 


60  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

He  courbes  himself  underneath  an  ulstaire  an 
he  damns  the  fog  to  eternity. 

He  wills  not  that  I  leave  him.  He  desires  tha 
I  come  to  dinner. 

I  am  grave.  I  think  upon  Lady  WoUobie- 
shorn  of  chaprassies — at  the  Clob.  Not  in  Bays 
water. 

I  accept.  He  will  bore  me  affreusely,  but  .  . 
I  have  taken  his  seat. 

He  descends  from  the  tumbril  of  his  humiliatioi 
and  the  street  hawker  rolls  a  barrow  up  his  waisi 
coat. 

Then  intervenes  the  fog — dense,  impenetrabL 
hopeless,  without  end. 

It  is  because  of  the  fog  that  there  is  a  drop  upo 
the  end  of  my  nose  so  chiselled. 

Gentlemen  the  Governors,  the  Lieutenant-Go\ 
emors  and  the  Conunissaires,  behold  the  dooi 
prepared. 

I  am  descended  to  the  gates  of  your  Lif 
in  Death.  Which  is  Brompton  or  Bays 
water. 

You  do  not  believe?  You  will  try  the  eoi 
stituencies  when  you  return;  is  it  not  so? 

You  will  fail.     As  others  failed. 


THE  HISTOEY  OF  A  FALL  61 

Your  seat  waits  you  on  the  top  of  an  Onmibuse 
Proletariat. 

I  shall  be  there. 

You  will  embrace  me  as  a  shipwrecked  man 
mbraces  a  log.  You  will  be  **  dam  glad  t'  see 
le." 

I  shall  grin. 

Oh  Life!  Oh  Death!  Oh  Power!  Oh  Toil! 
hHope!  Oh  Stars!  Oh  Honour!  Oh  Lodg- 
igs!  Oh  Fog!  Oh  Omnibuses!  Oh  Despair! 
h  Skittles! 


GRIFFITHS  THE  SAFE  MAN 

A  S  the  title  indicates,  this  story  deals  with  the 
safeness  of  Griffiths  the  safe  man,  the  secure 
person,  the  reliable  individual,  the  sort  of  man  you 
would  bank  with.  I  am  proud  to  write  about 
Griffiths,  for  I  owe  him  a  pleasant  day.  This 
story  is  dedicated  to  my  friend  Griffiths,  the  re- 
markably trustworthy  mortal. 

In  the  beginning  there  were  points  about  Grif- 
fiths. He  quoted  proverbs.  A  man  who  quotes 
proverbs  is  confounded  by  proverbs.  He  is  also 
confounded  by  his  friends.  But  I  never  con- 
founded Griffiths — not  even  in  that  supreme  mo- 
ment when  the  sweat  stood  on  his  brow  in  agony 
and  his  teeth  were  fixed  like  bayonets  and  he 
swore  horribly.  Even  then,  I  say,  I  sat  on  my 
own  trunk,  the  trunk  that  opened,  and  told  Grif- 
fiths that  I  had  always  respected  him,  but  never 
more  than  at  the  present  moment.  He  was  so 
safe,  y'  know. 

Safeness  is  a  matter  of  no  importance  to  me. 

63 


GRIFFITHS  THE  SAFE  MAN  63 

If  my  trunk  won^t  lock  when  I  jump  on  it  thrice, 
I  strap  it  up  and  go  on  to  something  else.  If 
my  carpet-bag  is  too  full,  I  let  the  tails  of  shirts 
and  the  ends  of  ties  bubble  over  and  go  down  the 
street  with  the  affair.  It  all  comes  right  in  the 
end,  and  if  it  does  not,  what  is  a  man  that  he 
should  fight  against  Fate? 

But  Griffiths  is  not  constructed  in  that  manner. 
He  says:  **  Safe  bind  is  safe  find.''  That,  rather, 
is  what  he  used  to  say.  He  has  seen  reason  to 
alter  his  views.  Everything  about  Griffiths  is 
safe — entirely  safe.  His  trunk  is  locked  by  two 
hermetical  gun-metal  double-end  Chubb s ;  his  bed- 
ding-roll opens  to  a  letter  padlock  capable  of  two 
million  combinations;  his  hat-box  has  a  lever 
patent  safety  on  it;  and  the  grief  of  his  life  is 
that  he  cannot  lock  up  the  ribs  of  his  umbrella 
safely.  If  you  could  get  at  his  soul  you  would 
find  it  ready  strapped  up  and  labelled  for  heaven. 
That  is  Griffiths. 

When  we  went  to  Japan  together,  Griffiths  kept 
all  his  money  under  lock  and  key.  I  carried  mine 
in  my  coat-tail  pocket.  But  all  Griffiths'  contrap- 
tions did  not  prevent  him  from  spending  exactly 
as  much  as  I  did.    You  see,  when  he  had  worried 


64  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

his  way  through  the  big  strap,  and  the  little  strap, 
and  the  slide-valve,  and  the  spring  lock,  and  the 
key  that  turned  twice  and  a  quarter,  he  felt  as 
though  he  had  earned  any  money  he  found,  where- 
as I  could  get  masses  of  sinful  wealth  by  merely 
pulling  out  my  handkerchief — dollars  and  five  dol- 
lars and  ten  dollars,  all  mixed  up  with  the  to- 
bacco or  flying  down  the  road.  They  looked  much 
too  pretty  to  spend. 

**  Safe  bind,  safe  bind,''  said  Griffiths  in  the 
treaty  port. 

He  never  really  began  to  lock  things  up  severely 
till  we  got  our  passports  to  travel  up-country.  He 
took  charge  of  mine  for  me,  on  the  ground  that 
I  was  an  imbecile.  As  you  are  asked  for  your 
passport  at  every  other  shop,  all  the  hotels,  most 
of  the  places  of  amusement,  and  on  the  top  of 
each  hill,  I  got  to  appreciate  Griffiths'  self-sacri- 
fice. He  would  be  biting  a  strap  with  his  teeth 
or  calculating  the  combinations  of  his  padlocks 
among  a  ring  of  admiring  Japanese  while  I  went 
for  a  walk  into  the  interior. 

''  Safe  bind,  safe  find,"  said  Griffiths.  That 
was  true,  because  I  was  bound  to  find  Griffiths 
somewhere  near  his  beloved  keys  and  straps.    He 


GEIFFITHS  THE  SAFE  MAN  65 

Qever  seemed  to  see  that  half  the  pleasure  of 
his  trip  was  being  strapped  and  keyed  out  of 
tiim. 

We  never  had  any  serious  difficulty  about  the 
passports  in  the  whole  course  of  our  wanderings. 
W^hat  I  purpose  to  describe  now  is  merely  an  in- 
3ident  of  travel.  It  had  no  effect  on  myself,  but 
it  nearly  broke  Griffiths'  heart. 

We  were  travelling  from  Kyoto  to  Otsu  along 
1  very  dusty  road  full  of  pretty  girls.  Every 
ime  I  stopped  to  play  with  one  of  them  Griffiths 
^rew  impatient.  He  had  telegraphed  for  rooms 
it  the  only  hotel  in  Otsu,  and  was  afraid  that  there 
;vould  be  no  accommodation.  There  were  only 
three  rooms  in  the  hotel,  and  **  Safe  bind,  safe 
ind,''  said  Griffiths.  He  was  telegraphing  ahead 
[or  something. 

Our  hotel  was  three-quarters  Japanese  and  one- 
juarter  European.  If  you  walked  across  it  it 
shook,  and  if  you  laughed  the  roof  fell  off. 
Strange  Japanese  came  in  and  dined  with  you, 
md  Jap  maidens  looked  through  the  windows  of 
:he  bathroom  while  you  were  bathing. 

We  had  hardly  put  the  luggage  down  before 
the  proprietor  asked  for  our  passports.    He  asked 


66  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

me  of  all  people  in  the  world.  *  ^  I  have  the  pass- 
ports/' said  Griffiths  with  pride.  *'  They  are 
in  the  yellow-hide  bag.  Turn  it  very  carefully 
on  to  the  right  side,  my  good  man.  You  have 
no  such  locks  in  Japan,  I'm  quite  certain.''  Then 
he  knelt  down  and  brought  out  a  bunch  of  keys 
as  big  as  his  fist.  You  must  know  that  every 
Japanese  carries  a  little  belaiti-made  handbag 
with  nickel  fastenings.  They  take  an  interest  in 
handbags. 

*^  Safe  bind,  safe D — ^n  the  key  I    What's 

wrong  with  it?  "  said  Griffiths. 

The  hotel  proprietor  bowed  and  smiled  very 
politely  for  at  least  five  minutes,  Griffiths  crawling 
over  and  under  and  round  and  about  his  bag  the 
while.  **  It's  a  percussating  compensator,"  said 
he,  half  to  himself.  **  I've  never  known  a  per- 
cussating compensator  do  this  before."  He  was 
getting  heated  and  red  in  the  face. 

**  Key  stuck,  eh?  I  told  you  those  fooling 
little  spring  locks  are  sure  to  go  wrong  sooner 
or  later." 

**  Fooling  little   devils.      It's   a  percussating 

comp There  goes  the  key.     Now  it  won't 

move  either  way.     I'll  give  you  the  passport  to- 


GEIFFITHS  THE  SAFE  MAN  67 

morrow.  Passport  Jcul  demang  manana — catchee 
in  a  little  time.    Won't  that  do  for  jonV 

Griffiths  was  getting  really  angry.  The  pro- 
prietor was  more  polite  than  ever.  He  bowed 
and  left  the  room.  ''  That's  a  good  little  chap,'' 
said  Griffiths.  **  Now  we'll  settle  down  and  see 
what  the  mischief's  wrong  with  this  bag.  You 
catch  one  end." 

*'  Not  in  the  least,"  I  said.  "  *  Safe  bind,  safe 
find.'  You  did  the  binding.  How  can  you  ex- 
pect me  to  do  the  finding?  I'm  an  imbecile  unfit 
to  be  trusted  with  a  passport,  and  now  I'm  going 
for  a  walk. ' '  The  Japanese  are  really  the  politest 
nation  in  the  world.  When  the  hotel  proprietor 
returned  with  a  policeman  he  did  not  at  once 
thrust  the  man  on  Griffiths'  notice.  He  put  him 
in  the  verandah  and  let  him  clank  his  sword 
gently  once  or  twice. 

**  Little  chap's  brought  a  blacksmith,"  said 
Griffiths,  but  when  he  saw  the  policeman  his  face 
became  ugly.  The  policeman  came  into  the  room 
and  tried  to  assist.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  four- 
foot  policeman  in  white  cotton  gloves  and  a  stand- 
up  collar  lunging  percussating  compensator  lock 
:vvith  a  five-foot  sword?     I  enjoyed  the  sight  for 


68  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

a  few  minutes  before  I  went  out  to  look  at  Otsu, 
which  is  a  nice  town.  No  one  hindered  me.  Grif- 
fiths was  so  completely  the  head  of  the  firm  that 
had  I  set  the  town  on  fire  he  would  have  been  held 
responsible. 

I  went  to  a  temple,  and  a  policeman  said  *  *  pass- 
port." I  said,  ''  The  other  gentleman  has  got." 
**  Where  is  other  gentleman?  "  said  the  police- 
man, syllable  by  syllable,  in  the  Ollendorfian  style. 
**  In  the  ho-tel,"  said  I;  and  he  waddled  off  to 
catch  him.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  do  a 
great  deal  towards  cheering  Griffiths  all  alone  in 
his  bedroom  with  that  wicked  bad  lock,  the  hotel 
proprietor,  the  policeman,  the  room-boy,  and  the 
girl  who  helped  one  to  bathe.  With  this  idea  I 
stood  in  front  of  four  policemen,  and  they  all 
asked  for  my  passport  and  were  all  sent  to 
the  hotel,  syllable  by  syllable — I  mean  one  by 
one. 

Some  soldiers  of  the  9th  N.  I.  were  strolling 
about  the  streets,  and  they  were  idle.  It  is  un- 
wise to  let  a  soldier  be  idle.  He  may  get  drunk. 
When  the  fourth  policeman  said :  * '  Where  is  other 
gentleman?"  I  said:  '*  In  the  hotel,  and  take 
soldiers — those  soldiers." 


GRIFFITHS  THE  SAFE  MAN  69 

**  How  many  soldiers?  ''  said  the  policeman 
firmly. 

**  Take  all  soldiers,"  I  said.  There  were  four 
files  in  the  street  just  then.  The  policeman  spoke 
to  them,  and  they  caught  up  their  big  sword- 
bayonets,  nearly  as  long  as  themselves,  and 
waddled  after  him. 

I  followed  them,  but  first  I  bought  some  sweets 
and  gave  one  to  a  child.  That  was  enough.  Long 
before  I  had  reached  the  hotel  I  had  a  tail  of 
fifty  babies.  These  I  seduced  into  the  long  pas- 
sage that  ran  through  the  house,  and  then  I  slid 
the  grating  that  answers  to  the  big  hall-door. 
That  house  was  full — pit,  boxes  and  galleries— 
for  Griffiths  had  created  an  audience  of  his  own, 
and  I  also  had  not  been  idle. 

The  four  files  of  soldiers  and  the  five  police- 
men were  marking  time  on  the  boards  of  Griffiths' 
room,  while  the  landlord  and  the  landlord's  wife, 
and  the  two  scullions,  and  the  bath-girl,  and  the 
cook-boy,  and  the  boy  who  spoke  English,  and 
the  boy  who  didn't,  and  the  boy  who  tried  to,  and 
the  cook,  filled  all  the  space  that  wasn't  de- 
voted to  babies  asking  the  foreigner  for  more 
sweets. 


70  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

Somewhere  in  the  centre  of  the  mess  was  Grif- 
fiths and  a  yellow-hide  bag.  I  don't  think  he  had 
looked  up  once  since  I  left,  for  as  he  raised  his 
eyes  at  my  voice  I  heard  him  cry :  '*  Good  heavens ! 
are  they  going  to  train  the  gnns  of  the  city  on 
me  I  What's  the  meaning  of  the  regiment?  I'm 
a  British  subject." 

**  What  are  you  looking  for?  "  I  asked. 

**  The  passports — ^your  passports — the  double- 
dyed  passports!  Oh,  give  a  man  room  to  use 
his  arms.     Get  me  a  hatchet." 

**  The  passports,  the  passports!"  I  said. 
"  Have  you  looked  in  your  great-coat?  It's  on 
the  bed,  and  there's  a  blue  envelope  in  it  that 
looks  like  a  passport.  You  put  it  there  before 
you  left  Kyoto." 

Griffiths  looked.  The  landlord  looked.  The 
landlord  took  the  passport  and  bowed.  The  five 
policemen  bowed  and  went  out  one  by  one;  the 
9th  N.  I.  formed  fours  and  went  out;  the  house- 
hold bowed,  and  there  was  a  long  silence.  Then 
the  bath-girl  began  to  giggle. 

When  Griffiths  wanted  to  speak  to  me  I  was 
on  the  other  side  of  the  regiment  of  children  in 


GEIFFITHS  THE  SAFE  MAN  71 

the  passage,  and  he  had  time  to  reflect  before  he 
could  work  his  way  through  them. 

They  formed  his  guard-of-honour  when  he  took 
the  bag  to  the  locksmith. 

I  abode  on  the  mountains  of  Otsu  till  dinner- 
time. 


IT  I 

rpHEKE  was  no  talk  of  it  for  a  fortnight.  We 
spoke  of  latitude  and  longitude  and  the 
proper  manufacture  of  sherry  cobblers,  while  the 
steamer  cut  open  a  glassy-smooth  sea.  Then  we 
turned  towards  China  and  drank  farewell  to  the 
nearer  East. 

*^  We  shall  reach  Hongkong  without  being  it," 
said  the  nervous  lady. 

'*  Nobody  of  ordinary  strength  of  mind  ever 
was  it,''  said  the  big  fat  man  with  the  voice.  I 
kept  my  eye  on  the  big  fat  man.  He  boasted  too 
much. 

The  China  seas  are  governed  neither  by  wind 
nor  calm.  Deep  down  under  the  sapphire  waters 
sits  a  green  and  yellow  devil  who  suffers  from 
indigestion  perpetually.  When  he  is  unwell  he 
troubles  the  waters  above  with  his  twis tings  and  , 
writhings.  Thus  it  happens  that  it  is  never  calm 
in  the  China  seas. 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly  when  the  big  fat  ] 

73 


IT!  73 

man  with  the  voice  came  up  the  companion  and 
looked  at  the  horizon. 

**  Hah!  ''  said  he,  **  calm  as  ditch  water!  Now 
I  remember  when  I  was  in  the  Florida  in  '80, 
meeting  a  tidal-wave  that  turned  us  upside  down 
for  five  minutes,  and  most  of  the  people  inside 
out,  by  Jove!  ''  He  expatiated  at  length  on  the 
heroism  displayed  by  himself  when  * '  even  the 
Captain  was  down,  sir!  " 

I  said  nothing,  but  I  kept  my  eyes  upon  the 
strong  man. 

The  sun  continued  to  shine  brightly,  and  it 
also  kept  an  eye  in  the  same  direction.  I  went 
to  the  far-off  fo'c'sle,  where  the  sheep  and  the 
cow  and  the  bo 'sun  and  the  second-class  passen- 
gers dwell  together  in  amity.  *^  Bo 'sun,"  said 
I, ''  how's  her  head?  " 

**  Direckly  in  front  of  her,  sir,"  replied  that 
ill-mannered  soul,  **  but  we  shall  be  meetin'  a 
head-sea  in  half  an  hour  that'll  put  your  head 
atween  of  your  legs.  Go  aft  an'  tell  that  to  them 
first-class  passengers." 

I  went  aft,  but  I  said  nothing.  We  went,  later, 
to  tiffin,  and  there  was  a  fine  funereal  smell  of 
stale  curries  and  tinned  meats  in  the  air.     Con- 


74  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

versa  tion  was  animated,  for  most  of  the  pas  sen 
gers  had  been  together  for  five  weeks  and  ha( 
developed  two  or  three  promising  flirtations, 
was  a  stranger — a  minnow  among  Tritons — ; 
third  man  in  the  cabin.  Only  those  who  havi 
been  a  third  man  in  the  cabin  know  what  thi 
means.  Suddenly  and  without  warning  our  shi] 
curtsied.  It  was  neither  a  bob  nor  a  duck  nor  j 
lurch,  but  a  long,  sweeping,  stately  old-fashione< 
curtsy.  Followed  a  lull  in  the  conversation, 
was  distinctly  conscious  that  I  had  left  my  stomacl 
two  feet  in  the  air,  and  waited  for  the  return  ro] 
to  join  it.  '^  Prettily  the  old  hooper  rides,  doesn' 
she?  ''  said  the  strong  man.  ^^  I  hope  she  won' 
do  it  often,"  said  the  pretty  lady  with  the  chang 
ing  complexion. 

**  Wha-hoop!  What  —  wha  —  wha  —  will; 
whoop!  ''  said  the  screw,  that  had  managed  t 
come  out  of  the  water  and  was  racing  wildly. 

**  Good  heavens !  is  the  ship  going  down?  "  sai 
the  fat  lady,  clutching  her  own  private  clar€ 
bottle  that  she  might  not  die  athirst.  The  shi 
went  down  at  the  word — ^with  a  drunken  lure 
down  she  went,  and  a  smothered  yell  from  on 
of  the  cabins  showed  that  there  was  water  in  th 


IT!  75 

ea.  The  portholes  closed  with  a  clash,  and  we 
ose  and  fell  on  the  swell  of  the  bo 'sun's  head-sea. 
[he  conversation  died  out.  Some  complained 
hat  the  saloon  was  stuffy,  and  fled  upstairs  to 
he  deck.     The  strong  man  brought  up  the  rear. 

**  Ooshy — ooshy — ^wooshy — ^woggle  wop!  ''  cried 
,  big  wave  without  a  head.  **  Get  up,  old  girl!  " 
nd  he  smacked  the  ship  most  disrespectfully  un- 
!er  the  counter,  and  she  squirmed  as  she  took  the 
rift  of  the  next  sea. 

**  She — ah — rides  very  prettily,"  repeated  the 
trong  man  as  the  companion  stairs  spumed  him 
rom  them  and  he  wound  his  arms  round  the  near- 
st  steward. 

'*  Damn  prettily,''  said  the  necked  officer.  **  I'm 
oing  to  lie  down.  Never  could  stand  the  China 
eas." 

*'  Most  refreshing  thing  in  the  world,"  said  the 
trong  man  faintly. 

I  took  counsel  purely  with  myself,  which  is  to 
ay,  my  stomach,  and  perceived  that  the  worst 
rould  not  befall  me. 

**  Come  to  the  fo'c'sle,  then,  and  feel  the  wind," 
aid  I  to  the  strong  man.  The  plover 's-egg  eyes 
f  three  yellowish-green  girls  were  upon  him. 


76  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

**  With  pleasure/'  said  he,  and  I  bore  him  awa 
to  where  the  cut-water  was  pulling  up  the  scare 
flying-fishes  as  a  spaniel  flushes  game.  In  froi 
of  us  was  the  illimitable  blue,  lightly  ridged  b 
the  procession  of  the  big  blind  rollers.  Up  ros 
the  stem  till  six  feet  of  the  red  paint  stood  clea 
above  the  blue — from  twenty-thre^  feet  to  eightee 
I  could  count  as  I  leaned  over.  Then  the  sapphii 
crashed  into  splinted  crystal  with  a  musical  jai 
and  the  white  spray  licked  the  anchor  channel 
as  we  drove  down  and  down,  sucking  at  the  sef 
I  kept  my  eye  upon  the  strong  man,  and  I  notice 
that  his  mouth  was  slightly  open,  the  better  t 
inhale  the  rushing  wind.  When  I  looked  a  secon 
time  he  was  gone.  The  driven  spray  was  scarce! 
quicker  in  its  flight.  My  excellent  stomach  be 
haved  with  temperance  and  chastity.  I  enjoye* 
the  fo'c'sle,  and  my  delight  was  the  greater  whe: 
I  reflected  on  the  strong  man.  Unless  I  wa 
much  mistaken,  he  would  know  all  about  it  ii 
half  an  hour. 

I  went  aft,  and  a  lull  between  two  waves  hear( 
the  petulant  pop  of  a  champagne  cork.  No  on^ 
drinks  champagne  after  tiffin  except  .  .  .  7f. 

The  strong  man  had  ordered  the  champagne 


IT  I  77 

^here  were  bottles  of  it  flying  about  the  quarter- 
eck.  The  engaged  couple  were  sipping  it  out 
f  one  glass,  but  their  faces  were  averted  like 
ur  parents  of  old.     They  were  ashamed. 

*  *  You  may  go !  You  may  go  to  Hongkong  for 
le!  "  shouted  half-a-dozen  little  waves  together, 
uUing  the  ship  several  ways  at  once.  She  rolled 
tately,  and  from  that  moment  settled  down  to  the 
rork  of  the  evening.  I  cannot  blame  her,  for  I 
m  sure  she  did  not  know  her  own  strength.  It 
idn't  hurt  her  to  be  on  her  side,  and  play  cat- 
nd-mouse,  and  puss-in-the-comer,  and  hide-and- 
eek,  but  it  destroyed  the  passengers.  One  by  one 
tiey  sank  into  long  chairs  and  gazed  at  the  sky. 
Jut  even  there  the  little  white  moved,  and  there 
ras  not  one  stable  thing  in  heaven  above  or  the 
raters  beneath.  My  virtuous  and  very  respecta- 
le  stomach  behaved  with  integrity  and  resolution. 

treated  it  to  a  gin  cocktail,  which  I  sucked  by 
be  side  of  the  strong  man,  who  told  me  in  con- 
idence  that  he  had  been  overcome  by  the  sun  at 
he  fo'c'sle.  Sun  fever  does  not  make  people  cold 
,nd  clammy  and  blue.  I  sat  with  him  and  tried 
0  make  him  talk  about  iheFlorida  and  his  voyages 
Q  the  past.    He  evaded  me  and  went  down  below. 


78  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

Three  minutes  later  I  followed  him  with  a  thick 
cheroot.  Into  his  bunk  I  went,  for  I  knew  he 
would  be  helpless.  He  was — ^he  was — ^he  was.  He 
wallowed  supine,  and  I  stood  in  the  doorway  smok- 
ing. 

"  What  is  it  r' said  I. 

He  wrestled  with  his  pride — ^his  wicked  pride — 
but  he  would  not  tell  a  lie. 

*'  It,"  said  he.     And  it  was  so. 

The  rolling  continues.  The  ship  is  a  shambles, 
and  I  have  six  places  on  each  side  of  me  all  to 
myself. 


A  FALLEN  IDOL 

TIT" ILL  the  public  be  good  enough  to  look 
^  ^  into  this  business?  It  has  sent  Crewe  to 
bed,  and  Mottleby  is  applying  for  home  leave, 
and  IVe  lost  my  faith  in  man  altogether,  and  the 
Club  gives  it  up.  Trivey  is  the  only  man  who 
is  unaffected  by  the  catastrophe,  and  he  says  I 
told  you  so."  We  were  all  proud  of  Trivey  at 
the  Club,  and  would  have  crowned  him  with 
wreaths  of  Bougainvillea  had  he  permitted  the 
liberty.  But  Trivey  was  an  austere  man.  The 
utmost  that  he  permitted  himself  to  say  was: 
^'  I  can  stretch  a  little  bit  when  I'm  in  the  hu- 
mour." We  called  him  the  Monumental  Liar. 
Nothing  that  the  Club  offered  was  too  good  for 
Trivey.  He  had  the  soft  chair  opposite  the  ther- 
mantidote  in  the  hot  weather,  and  he  made  up 
his  own  four  at  whist.  When  visitors  came  in — 
globe-trotters  for  choice — Trivey  used  to  un- 
muzzle himself  and  tell  tales  that  sent  the  globe- 
trotter out  of  the  Club  on  tiptoe  looking  for  snakes 
79 


80  ABAFT   THE  FUNNEL 

in  his  hat  and  tigers  in  the  compound.  Whenever 
a  man  from  a  strange  Club  came  in  Trivey  used 
to  call  for  a  whisky  and  ginger-wine  and  rout 
that  man  on  all  points — from  horses  upward. 
There  was  a  man  whose  nickname  was  *^  Ana- 
nias,'' who  came  from  the  Prince's  Plungers  to 
look  at  Trivey;  and,  though  Trivey  was  only  a 
civilian,  the  Plunger  man  resigned  his  title  to  the 
nickname  before  eleven  o'clock.  He  made  it  over 
to  Trivey  on  a  card,  and  Trivey  hung  up  the  con- 
cession in  his  quarters.  We  loved  Trivey — all  of 
us ;  and  now  we  don't  love  him  any  more. 

A  man  from  the  frontier  came  in  and  began  to 
tell  tales — some  very  good  ones,  and  some  better 
than  good.  He  was  an  outsider,  but  he  had  a 
wonderful  imagination — for  the  frontier.  He  told 
six  stories  before  Trivey  brought  up  his  first  line, 
and  three  more  before  Trivey  hurled  his  reserves 
into  the  fray. 

**  When  I  was  at  Anungaracharlupillay  in  Ma- 
dras," said  Trivey  quietly,  **  there  was  a  rogue 
elephant  cutting  about  the  district.  And  I  came 
upon  him  asleep."  All  the  Club  stopped  talking 
here,  until  Trivey  had  finished  the  story.  He 
told  us  that  he,  in  the  company  of  another  man, 


A  FALLEN  IDOL  81 

had  found  the  rogue  asleep,  but  just  as  they  got 
up  to  the  brute's  head  it  woke  up  with  a  scream. 
Then  Trivey,  who  was  careful  to  explain  that  he 
was  a  **  bit  powerful  about  the  arms,'*  caught 
hold  of  its  ears  as  it  rose,  and  hung  there,  kicking 
the  animal  in  the  eyes,  which  so  bewildered  it 
that  it  stayed  screaming  and  frightened  until 
Irivey's  ally  shot  it  behind  the  shoulder,  and  the 
villagers  ran  in  and  hamstrung  it.  It  evidently 
iied  from  loss  of  blood.  Trivey  was  hanging  on 
the  ears  and  kicking  hard  for  nearly  j5fteen  min- 
ites.  When  the  frontier  man  heard  the  story  he 
aut  his  hands  in  front  of  his  face  and  sobbed  audi- 
bly. We  gave  him  all  the  drinks  he  wanted,  and 
he  recovered  sufficiently  to  carry  away  eighty 
rupees  at  whist  later  on;  but  his  nerve  was  ir- 
retrievably shattered.  He  will  be  no  use  on  the 
Frontier  any  more.  The  rest  of  the  Club  were 
i^ery  pleased  with  Trivey,  because  these  frontier 
nen,  and  especially  the  guides,  want  a  great  deal 
3f  keeping  in  order.  Trivey  was  quite  modest. 
He  was  a  truly  great  soul,  and  popular  applause 
aever  turned  his  head.  As  I  have  said,  we  loved 
Frivey,  till  that  fatal  day  when  Crewe  announced 
that  he  had  been  transferred  for  a  couple  of 


82  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

months  to  Anungaracharlupillay.  **  Oh!  "  said 
Trivey,  ^^  I  dare  say  they'll  remember  about  my 
rogue  elephant  down  there.  You  ask  'em,  Crewe." 
Then  we  felt  sorry  for  Trivey,  because  we  were 
sure  that  he  was  arriving  at  that  stage  of  mental 
decay  when  a  man  begins  to  believe  in  his  own 
fictions.  That  spoils  a  man's  hand.  Crewe  wrote 
up  once  or  twice  to  Mottleby,  saying  that  he  would 
bring  back  a  story  that  would  make  our  hair  curl. 
Good  stories  are  scarce  in  Madras,  and  we  rather 
scoffed  at  the  announcement.  When  Crewe  re- 
turned it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was  bursting 
with  importance.  He  gave  a  big  dinner  at  the 
Club  and  invited  nearly  everybody  but  Trivey, 
who  went  off  after  dinner  to  teach  a  young  sub- 
altern to  play  ''  snooker."  At  coffee  and  che- 
roots, Crewe  could  not  restrain  himself  any  longer. 
*'  I  say,  you  Johnnies,  it's  all  true — every  single 
word  of  it — and  you  can  throw  the  decanter  at 
my  head  and  I'll  apologise.  The  whole  village 
was  full  of  it.  There  was  a  rogue  elephant,  and 
it  slept,  and  Trivey  did  catch  hold  of  its  ears  and 
kick  it  in  the  eyes,  and  hang  on  for  ten  minutes, 
at  least,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  I  neglected  my 
regular  work  to  sift  that  story,  and  on  my  honour 


A  FALLEN  IDOL  83 

the  tale's  an  absolute  fact.  The  headsman  said 
so,  all  the  shikaries  said  so,  and  all  the  villages 
corroborated  it.  Now  would  a  whole  village 
volunteer  a  lie  that  would  do  them  no  good?  '' 

You  might  have  heard  a  cigar-ash  fall  after  this 
statement.  Then  Mottleby  said,  with  deep  dis- 
gust: **  What  can  you  do  with  a  man  like  that? 
His  best  and  brightest  lie,  too!  "  ''  'Tisn't!  '' 
shrieked  Crewe.  **  It's  a  fact — a  nickel-plated, 
teak-wood,  Tantalus-action,  forty-five  rupee  fact." 
**  That  only  makes  it  worse,"  said  Mottleby;  and 
we  all  felt  that  was  true.  We  ran  into  the  billiard- 
room  to  talk  to  Trivey,  but  he  said  we  had  put 
him  off  his  stroke;  and  that  was  all  the  satisfac- 
tion we  got  out  of  him.  Later  on  he  repeated 
that  he  was  a  ^*  bit  powerful  about  the  arms," 
and  went  to  bed.  We  sat  up  half  the  night  devis- 
ing vengeance  on  Trivey.  We  were  very  angry, 
and  there  was  no  hope  of  hushing  up  the  tale. 
The  man  had  taken  us  in  completely,  and  now  that 
we've  lost  our  champion  Ananias,  all  the  frontier 
will  laugh  at  us,  and  we  shall  never  be  able  to 
trust  a  word  that  Trivey  says. 

I  ask  with  Mottleby:  **  What  can  you  do  with 
a  man  like  that?  " 


NEWBEOOMS 

"  If  seven  maids  with  seven  mops 

Swept  it  for  half  a  year, 
Do  you  suppose,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"  That  they  could  sweep  it  clear  ?  " 

r>  AM  BUKSH,  Aryan,  went  to  bed  with  his 
^  ^  buffalo,  ^ve  goats,  three  children  and  a  wife, 
because  the  evening  mists  were  chilly.  His  hut 
was  builded  on  the  mud  scooped  from  a  green  and 
smelly  tank,  and  there  were  microbes  in  the  thin 
blood  of  Ram  Buksh. 

Ram  Buksh  went  to  bed  on  a  charpoy  stretched 
across  the  blue  tepid  drain,  because  the  nights 
were  hot;  and  there  were  more  microbes  in  his 
blood.  Then  the  rains  came,  and  Ram  Buksh 
paddled,  mid-thigh  deep,  in  water  for  a  day  or  two 
with  his  buffaloes  till  he  was  aware  of  a  cramp- 
some  feeling  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach.  *  *  Mother 
of  my  children,"  said  Ram  Buksh,  **  this  is 
death."  They  gave  him  cardamoms  and  capsi- 
cums, and  gingelly-oil  and  cloves,  and  they  prayed 
for  him.  *'  It  is  enough,"  said  Ram  Buksh,  and 
he  twisted  himself  into  a  knot  and  died,  and  they 

84 


NEW  BEOOMS  85 

burned  him  slightly — for  the  wood  was  damp — 
and  the  rest  of  him  floated  down  the  river,  and 
was  caught  in  an  undercurrent  at  the  bank,  and 
there  stayed;  and  when  Imam  Din,  the  Jeweller, 
drank  of  the  stream  five  days  later,  he  drank 
Lethe,  and  passed  away,  crying  in  vain  upon  his 
gods. 

His  family  did  not  report  his  death  to  the  Mu- 
nicipality, for  they  desired  to  keep  Imam  Din  with 
them.  Therefore,  they  buried  him  under  the  flag- 
ging in  the  courtyard,  secretly  and  by  night. 
Twelve  days  later,  Imam  Din  had  made  connection 
with  the  well  of  the  house,  and  there  was  typhus 
among  the  women  in  the  zenana,  but  no  one  knew 
anything  about  it — some  died  and  some  did  not; 
and  Ari  Booj,  the  Faquir,  added  to  the  interest 
of  the  proceedings  by  joining  the  funeral  pro- 
cession and  distributing  gratis  the  more  malignant 
forms  of  smallpox,  from  which  he  was  just  re- 
covering. He  had  come  all  the  way  from  Delhi, 
and  had  slept  on  no  less  than  fifteen  different 
eharpoys;  and  that  was  how  they  got  the  small- 
pox into  Bahadurgarh.  But  Eshmith  Sahib  ^s 
Dhobi  picked  it  up  from  Ari  Booj  when  Imam 
Din's  wife  was  being  buried — for  he  was  a  merry 


86  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

man,  and  sent  home  a  beautiful  sample  among  the 
Sunday  shirts.     So  Eshmith  Sahib  died. 

He  was  only  a  link  in  the  chain  which  crawled 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest.  The  wonder  was 
not  that  men  died  like  sheep,  but  that  they  did 
not  die  like  flies;  for  their  lives  and  their  sur- 
roundings, their  deaths,  were  part  of  a  huge  con- 
spiracy against  cleanliness.  And  the  people  loved 
to  have  it  so.  They  huddled  together  in  frowsy 
clusters,  while  Death  mowed  his  way  through  them 
till  the  scythe  blunted  against  the  unresisting  flesh, 
and  he  had  to  get  a  new  one.  They  died  by  fever, 
tens  of  thousands  in  a  month ;  they  died  by  cholera, 
a  thousand  in  a  week;  they  died  of  smallpox, 
scores  in  the  mohulla,  and  by  dysentery  by  tens 
in  a  house ;  and  when  all  other  deaths  failed  they 
laid  them  down  and  died  because  their  hands  were 
too  weak  to  hold  on  to  life. 

To  and  fro  stamped  the  Englishman,  who  is 
everlastingly  at  war  with  the  scheme  of  things. 
**  You  shall  not  die,"  he  said,  and  he  decreed  that 
there  should  be  no  more  famines.  He  poured 
grain  down  their  throats,  and  when  all  failed  he 
went  down  into  the  strife  and  died  with  them, 
swearing,  and  toiling,  and  working  till  the  last. 


NEW  BROOMS  87 

He  fought  the  famine  and  pnt  it  to  flight.  Then 
he  wiped  his  forehead,  and  attacked  the  pestilence 
that  walketh  in  the  darkness.  Death's  scythe 
swept  to  and  fro,  around  and  about  him;  but  he 
only  planted  his  feet  more  firmly  in  the  way  of 
it,  and  fought  off  Death  with  a  dog- whip.  *  *  Live, 
you  ruffian!  ''  said  the  Englishman  to  Ram  Buksh 
as  he  rode  through  the  reeking  village.  '^  JenabI  '* 
said  Ram  Buksh,  **  it  is  as  it  was  in  the  days  of 
our  fathers!  '*  **  Then  stand  back  while  I  alter 
it,*'  said  the  Englishman;  and  by  force,  and  cun- 
Qing,  and  a  brutal  disregard  of  vested  interests, 
be  strove  to  keep  Ram  Buksh  alive.  '  ^  Clean  your 
mohullas;  pay  for  clean  water;  keep  your  streets 
swept;  and  see  that  your  food  is  sound,  or  I'll 
make  your  life  a  burden  to  you,''  said  the  English- 
man. Sometimes  he  died;  but  more  often  Ram 
Buksh  went  down,  and  the  Englishman  regarded 
each  death  as  a  personal  insult. 

**  Softly,  there!  "  said  the  Government  of  In- 
dia. **  You're  twisting  his  tail.  You  mustn't 
do  that.  The  spread  of  education  forbids,  and 
Ram  Buksh  is  an  intelligent  voter.  Let  him  work 
out  his  own  salvation." 

**  H'm!  "  said  the  Englishman  with  his  head 


88  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

in  a  midden ;  ^  *  collectively  you  always  were  a  fool. 
Here,  Earn  Buksh,  the  Sirkar  says  you  are  to 
do  all  these  things  for  yourself." 

**  Jendb!  ''  says  Earn  Buksh,  and  fell  to  breed- 
ing microbes  with  renewed  vigour. 

Curiously  enough,  it  was  in  the  centres  of  en- 
lightenment that  he  prosecuted  his  experiments 
most  energetically.  The  education  had  been 
spread,  but  so  thinly  that  it  could  not  disguise 
Eam  Buksh 's  natural  instincts.  He  created  an 
African  village,  and  said  it  was  the  hub  of  the 
universe,  and  all  the  dirt  of  all  the  roads  failed 
to  convince  him  that  he  was  not  the  most  ad- 
vanced person  in  the  world.  There  was  a  pause, 
and  Eam  Buksh  got  himself  fearfully  entangled 
among  Boards  and  Committees,  but  he  valued 
them  as  a  bower-bird  values  shells  and  red  rags. 
**  See!  "  said  the  Englishman  to  the  Government 
of  India,  *  *  he  is  blind  on  that  side — ^blind  by  birth, 
training,  instinct  and  associations.  Five-sixths  of 
him  is  poor  stock  raised  off  poor  soil,  and  he'll 
die  on  the  least  provocation.  You've  no  right  to 
let  him  kill  himself." 

*^  But  he's  educated,"  said  the  Government  of 
India. 


NEW  BROOMS  89 

**  1*11  concede  everything,"  said  the  English- 
man. **  He's  a  statesman,  author,  poet,  politi- 
cian, artist,  and  all  else  that  you  wish  him  to  be, 
but  he  isn't  a  Sanitary  Engineer.  And  while 
p-ou're  training  him  he  is  dying.  Goodness  knows 
:hat  my  share  in  the  Government  is  very  limited 
lowadays,  but  I'm  willing  to  do  all  the  work  while 
tie  gets  all  the  credit  if  you'll  only  let  me 
tiave  some  authority  over  him  in  his  mud-pie 
naking." 

*^  But  the  liberty  of  the  subject  is  sacred,"  said 
:he  Government  of  India. 

**  I  haven't  any,"  said  the  Englishman.  **  He 
jan  trail  through  my  compounds ;  start  shrines  in 
;he  public  roads;  poison  my  family;  have  me  in 
jourt  for  nothing;  ruin  my  character;  spend  my 
noney,  and  call  me  an  assassin  when  all  is  done. 
[  don't  object.    Let  me  look  after  his  sanitation." 

**  But  the  days  of  a  paternal  Government  are 
)ver;  we  must  depend  on  the  people.  Think  of 
^hat  they  would  say  at  home,"  said  the  Govern- 
nent  of  India.  **  We  have  issued  a  resolution — 
ndeed  we  have!  " 

The  Englishman  sat  down  and  groaned.  **  I 
)elieve  you'll  issue  a  resolution  some  day  notify- 


90  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

ing  your  own  abolition/'  said  he.  **  What  are  yoi 
going  to  do?  '' 

^*  Constitute  more  Boards,''  said  the  Govern- 
ment of  India.  **  Boards  of  Control  and  Super 
vision — ^Fund  Boards — all  sorts  of  Boards.  Noth 
ing  like  system.  It  will  be  at  work  in  three  years 
or  so.  We  haven't  any  money,  but  that's  a  de 
tail." 

The  Englishman  looked  at  the  resolution  and 
sniffed.  **  It  doesn't  touch  the  weak  point  of  the 
country. ' ' 

'*  What  will  touch  the  weak  point  of  the  coun- 
try, then?  "  said  the  Government  of  India. 

**  I  used  to,"  said  the  Englishman.  **  I  was 
the  District  Officer,  and  I  twisted  their  tails.  You 
have  taken  away  my  power,  and  now " 

*  *  Well, ' '  said  the  Government  of  India,  *  *  yon 
seem  to  think  a  good  deal  of  yourself." 

*  ^  Never  mind  me, ' '  said  the  Englishman.  *  *  I  'm 
an  effete  relic  of  the  past.  But  Eam  Buksh  will 
die,  as  he  used  to  do." 

And  now  we  all  wait  to  see  which  is  right. 


TIGLATH  PILESER 

npHANK  Heaven  he  is  dead !  The  municipality 
sent  a  cart  and  a  man  only  this  morning,  and, 
all  the  servants  aiding  with  ropes  and  tackle,  the 
carcase  of  Tiglath  was  borne  away — a  wobbling 
lump.  His  head  was  thrust  over  the  tailboard  of 
the  cart.  Upon  it  was  stamped  an  expression  of 
horror  and  surprise,  unutterable  and  grotesque. 
I  have  put  away  my  rifle,  I  have  cheered  my  heart 
with  wine,  and  I  sit  down  now  to  write  the  story 
of  Tiglath,  the  Utter  Brute.  His  own  kind,  alas ! 
will  not  read  it,  and  thus  it  will  be  shorn  of  in- 
struction; but  owners  will  kindly  take  notice,  and 
when  it  pleases  Heaven  to  inflict  them  with  siich 
an  animal  as  Tiglath  they  will  know  what  to  do. 

To  begin  with,  I  bought  him,  his  vices  thick 
as  his  barsati,  for  a  hundred  and  seventy  rupees, 
a  five-chambered,  muzzle-loading  revolver,  and  a 
Cawnpore  saddle. 
**  Of  course,  for  that  price,"  said  Staveley, 
you  can't  expect  everything.  He's  not  what 
91 


92  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

one  would  call  absolutely  sound,  y'  know,  bu 
there's  no  end  of  work  in  bim,  and  if  you  onl^ 
give  him  the  butt  he'll  go  like  a  steam-engine.' 

*  *  Staveley, ' '  I  answered,  *  *  when  you  admit  tha 
he  is  not  perfection  I  perceive  that  I  am  in  foi 
a  really  Good  Thing.  Don't  hurt  your  conscience 
Staveley.  Tell  me  what  is  his  chief  vice — ^weak 
ness,  partiality — anything  you  choose  to  call  it 
I  shall  get  to  know  the  minor  defects  in  the  cours* 
of  nature;  but  what  is  Tiglath's  real  shouk?  " 

Staveley  reflected  a  moment.  *^  Well,  really,  '. 
can't  quite  say,  old  man,  straight  off  the  reel 
y'  know.  He's  a  oner  to  go  when  his  head'; 
turned  to  home.  He's  a  regular  feeder,  and  vase 
line  will  cure  that  little  eruption  " — with  its  ma 
lignant  barsati— ''  in  no  time.  Oh,  I  forgot  hi 
shouk;  I  don't  know  exactly  how  to  describe  i1 
but  he  yaws  a  good  deal,"  said  Staveley. 

**  He  how  muches?  "  I  asked. 

**  Yaws,"  said  Staveley; ''  goes  a  bit  wide  upoi 
occasions,  but  a  good  coachwan  will  cure  that  ii 
one  drive.  My  man  let  him  do  what  he  liked 
One  fifty  and  a  hundred,  ten  and  ten  is  twenty- 
one-seventy.  Many  thanks,  indeed.  I'll  sen( 
over  his  bedding  and  ropes.     He's  a  powerfu 


TIGLATH  PILESER  93 

ipstanding  horse,  though  rather  picked  up  just 
it  present." 

Staveley  departed,  and  I  was  left  alone  with 
riglath.  I  called  him  Tiglath  because  he  re- 
lembled  a  lathy  pig.  Later  on  I  called  him  Pileser 
>n  account  of  his  shouk;  but  my  coachwan,  a 
itrong,  masterless  man,  called  him  ^'  haramzada 
hor,  shaitan  he  hap  ''  and  '^  oont  ki  beta,''  He 
ertainly  was  a  powerful  horse,  being  full  fifteen- 
wo  at  the  withers,  with  the  girth  of  a  waler,  and 
,t  first  the  docility  of  an  Arab.  There  was  some- 
hing  wrong  with  his  feet — permanently — but  he 
ras  a  considerate  beast,  and  never  had  more  than 
ne  leg  in  hospital  at  a  time.  The  other  three 
rere  still  movable,  and  Tiglath  never  grudged 
hem  in  my  service.  I  write  this  in  justice  to  his 
aemory;  the  creaking  of  the  wheels  of  the  mu- 
licipal  cart  being  still  in  my  ears. 

For  a  season — some  twelve  days — Tiglath  was 
•eyond  reproach.  He  had  not  a  cheerful  dispo  si- 
ion,  nor  did  his  pendulous  underlip  add  to  his 
lersonal  beauty ;  but  he  made  no  complaints,  and 
loved  swiftly  to  and  from  office.  The  hot  weather 
:ave  place  to  the  cool  breezes  of  October,  and 
rith  the  turn  of  the  year  the  slumbering  devil  in 


94  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

the  soul  of  Tiglath  spread  its  wings  and  crowed 
aloud.  I  fed  him  well,  I  had  aided  his  barsati, 
I  had  lapped  his  lame  legs  in  thanda  putties,  and 
adorned  his  sinful  body  with  new  harness.  He 
rewarded  me  upon  a  day  with  an  exhibition  so 
new  and  strange  that  I  feared  for  the  moment  his 
reason  had  been  unhinged.  Slowly,  with  a  malev- 
olent grin,  Tiglath,  the  pampered,  turned  at  right 
angles  to  the  carriage — a  newly-varnished  one — 
and  backed  the  front  wheels  up  the  verandah  steps, 
letting  them  down  with  a  bump.  He  then  wheeled 
round  and  round  in  the  portico,  and  all  but  brought 
the  carriage  over.  The  show  lasted  for  ten  min- 
utes, at  the  end  of  which  time  he  trotted  peace- 
fully away. 

I  was  pained  and  grieved — ^nothing  more,  upon 
my  honour.  I  forbade  the  sais  to  kick  Tiglath  in 
the  stomach,  for  I  was  persuaded  that  the  harness 
galled  him,  and,  in  this  belief,  at  the  end  of  the 
day,  undressed  him  tenderly  and  fitted  sheepskin 
all  over  the  said  harness.  Tiglath  ate  the  sheep- 
skin next  day,  and  I  did  not  renew  it. 

A  week  later  I  met  the  Judge.  It  was  a  purely 
accidental  interview.  I  would  have  avoided  it,  as 
the  Judge  and  I  did  not  love  each  other,  but  the 


TIGLATH  PILESER  95 

shafts  of  my  carriage  were  through  the  circular 
front  of  his  brougham,  and  Tiglath  was  rubbing 
the  boss  of  his  headstall  tenderly  against  the 
newly-varnished  panels  of  the  same.  The  Judge 
complained  that  he  might  have  been  impaled  as 
he  sat.  My  coachwan  declared  on  oath  that  the 
horse  deliberately  ran  into  the  brougham.  Tig- 
lath  tendered  no  evidence,  and  I  began  to  mistrust 
him. 

At  the  end  of  a  month  I  perceived  that  my 
friends  and  acquaintances  avoided  me  markedly. 
The  appearance  of  Tiglath  at  the  band-stand  was 
enough  to  clear  a  space  of  ten  yards  in  my  im- 
mediate neighbourhood.  I  had  to  shout  to  my 
friends  from  afar,  and  they  shouted  back  the  de- 
tails of  the  little  bills  which  I  had  to  pay  their 
coach-builders.  Tiglath  was  suffering  from  car- 
riagecidal  mania,  and  the  coachwan  had  asked  for 
leave.  * '  Stay  with  me,  Ibrahim, ' '  I  said.  *  *  Thou 
seest  how  the  sahib  log  do  now  avoid  us.  Get 
a  new  and  a  stout  chabuq,  and  instruct  Tiglath 
in  the  paths  of  straight  walking.'' 

^*  He  will  smash  the  Heaven-born 's  carriage. 
He  is  an  old  and  stale  devil,  but  in  this  matter 
extreme  wise,''  answered  Ibrahim.    **  Kitto  sa- 


96  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

hib's  filton  hath  he  smashed,  and  Burkitt  sahib's 
brougham  gharri,  and  another  tum-tum,  and 
Staveley  sahib's  carriage  is  still  being  mended. 
What  profit  is  this  horse?  He  feigns  blindness 
and  much  fear,  and  in  the  guise  of  innocency  works 
evil.  I  will  stay,  sahib,  but  the  blood  of  this  thy 
new  carriage  be  upon  the  brute's  head  and  not 
upon  mine  own. ' ' 

I  have  no  space  to  describe  the  war  of  the  next 
few  weeks.  Foiled  in  his  desire  to  ruin  only 
neighbours'  property,  Tiglath  fell  back  literally, 
upon  his  own — ^my  carriage.  He  tried  the  veran- 
dah step  trick  till  he  bent  the  springs,  and  wheeled 
round  till  the  turning  action  grew  red-hot;  he 
scraped  stealthily  by  walls ;  he  performed  between 
heavy-laden  bullock-trains,  but  his  chief  delight 
was  a  pas  de  fantasie  on  a  dark  night  and  a  high, 
level  road.  Yet  what  he  did  he  did  staidly  and 
without  heat,  as  without  remorse.  He  was  vetted 
thrice,  and  his  eyes  were  pronounced  sound. 
After  this  information  I  laid  my  bones  to  the 
battle,  and  acquired  a  desperate  facility  of  leap- 
ing from  the  carriage  and  kicking  Tiglath  on  the 
stomach  as  soon  as  he  wheeled  around;  leaping 
back  at  the  risk  of  my  life  when  he  set  off  at  full 


TIGLATH  PILESER  97 

speed.  I  pressed  the  lighted  end  of  a  cheroot  just 
behind  the  collar-buckle ;  I  applied  fusees  to  those 
flaccid  nostrils,  and  I  beat  him  about  the  head  with 
a  stick  continually.  It  was  necessary,  but  it  was 
also  demoralising.  A  year  of  Tiglath  would  have 
converted  me  into  a  cold-blooded  vivisectionist, 
or  a  native  bullock-driver.  Each  day  I  took  stock 
of  the  injuries  to  my  carriage.  I  had  long  since 
^iven  up  all  hope  of  keeping  it  in  decent  repair; 
and  each  day  I  devised  fresh  torments  for  Tig- 
lath. 

He  never  meant  to  injure  himself,  I  am  certain, 
and  no  one  was  more  astonished  than  he  when 
tie  backed  on  the  Balumon  road,  and  dropped  the 
carriage  into  a  nullah  on  the  night  of  the  Jama- 
bundi  Moguls'  dance.  I  did  not  go  to  the  dance. 
[  was  bent  considerably,  and  one  side  of  the  coach- 
wan^s  face  was  flayed.  When  he  had  pieced,  the 
wreck  together,  he  only  said,  ^^  Sahib!  "  and  I 
said  only  * '  Bohat  acha. ' '  But  we  each  knew  what 
the  other  meant.  Next  morn  Tiglath  was  stiff 
and  strained.  I  gave  him  time  to  recover  and 
to  enjoy  life.  When  I  heard  him  squealing  to 
the  grass-cutter's  ponies  I  knew  that  the  hour 
liad  come.     I  ordered  the  carriage,  and  myself 


98  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

superintended  the  funeral  toilet  of  Tiglath.  His 
harness  brasses  shone  like  gold,  his  coat  like  a 
bottle,  and  he  lifted  his  feet  daintily.  Had  he 
even  then,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  given  promise  of 
amendment,  I  should  have  held  my  hand.  But  as 
I  entered  the  carriage  I  saw  the  hunching  of  his 
quarters  that  presaged  trouble,  ^t  Go  forward, 
Tiglath,  my  love,  my  pride,  my  delight,'*  I  mur- 
mured. *  ^  For  a  surety  it  is  a  matter  of  life  and 
death  this  day."  The  sais  ran  to  his  head  with 
a  fragment  of  chupatti,  saved  from  his  all  too 
scanty  rations ;  the  man  loved  him.  And  Tiglath 
swung  round  to  the  left  in  the  portico ;  round  and 
round  swung  he,  till  the  near  ear  touched  the 
muzzle  of  the  shot-gun  that  waited  its  coming. 
He  never  flinched ;  he  pressed  his  fate.  The  coach- 
wan  threw  down  the  reins  as,  with  four  ounces 
of  No.  5  shot  behind  the  hollow  of  the  root  of 
the  ear,  Tiglath  fell.  In  his  death  he  accomplished 
the  desire  of  his  life,"  for  he  fell  upon  the  shaft 
and  broke  it  into  three  pieces.  I  looked  on  him 
as  he  lay,  and  of  a  sudden  the  reason  of  the  hor- 
ror in  his  eyes  was  made  clear.  Tiglath,  the 
breaker  of  carriages,  the  strong,  the  rebellious, 
had  passed  into  the  shadowy  spirit  land,  where 


TIGLATH  PILESER  99 

there  was  nought  to  destroy  and  no  power  to  de- 
stroy it  with.  The  ghastly  fore-knowledge  of  the 
flitting  soul  was  written  on  the  glazing  eyeball. 

I  repented  me,  then,  that  I  had  slain  Tiglath, 
for  I  had  no  intention  of  punishing  him  in  tho 
hereafter. 


THE  LIKES  0'  US 

T  T  was  the  General  Officer  Commanding,  riding 
'■'  down  the  Mall,  on  the  Arab  with  the  perky- 
tail,  and  he  condescended  to  explain  some  of  the 
mysteries  of  his  profession.  But  the  point  on 
which  he  dwelt  most  pompously  was  the  ease  with 
which  the  Private  Thomas  Atkins  could  be 
**  handled,"  as  he  called  it.  "  Only  feed  him  and 
give  him  a  little  work  to  do,  and  you  can  do  any- 
thing with  him,"  said  the  General  Officer  Com- 
manding. *^  There's  no  refinement  about  Tommy, 
you  know;  and  one  is  very  like  another.  They've 
all  the  same  ideas  and  traditions  and  prejudices. 
They're  all  big  children.  Fancy  any  man  in  his 
senses  shooting  about  these  hills."  There  was 
the  report  of  a  shot-gun  in  the  valley.  **  I  sup- 
pose they've  hit  a  dog.  Happy  as  the  day  is  long 
when  they're  out  shooting  dogs.  Just  like  a  big 
child  is  Tommy."  He  touched  up  his  horse  and 
cantered  away.  There  was  a  sound  of  angry 
voices  down  the  hillside. 

100 


THE  LIKES  0'  tJfe      ''"'ibi^ 

'*  All  right,  you  so  or — ^I  won't  never  forget  this 
— ^mind  you,  not  as  long  as  I  live,  and  s'  'elp  me 

— ^1*11 '*     The  sentence  finished  in  what  could 

be  represented  by  a  blaze  of  asterisks. 

A  deeper  voice  cut  it  short :  ^  *  Oh,  no,  you  won't, 
neither !  Look  a-here,  you  young  smitcher.  If 
I  was  to  take  yer  up  now,  and  knock  off  your  'ead 
again'  that  tree,  could  ye  say  anythin'?     No,  nor 

yet  do  anythin ',    If  I  was  to Ah !  you  would, 

would  you?  There!  "  Some  one  had  evidently 
sat  down  with  a  thud,  and  was  swearing  nobly. 
I  slid  over  the  edge  of  the  Jchud,  down  through 
the  long  grass,  and  fetched  up,  after  the  manner 
of  a  sledge,  with  my  feet  in  the  broad  of  the  back 
of  Gunner  Barnabas  in  the  Mountain  Battery,  my 
friend,  the  very  strong  man.  He  was  sitting  upon 
a  man — a  khaki-coloured  volcano  of  blasphemy — 
and  was  preparing  to  smoke.  My  sudden  arrival 
threw  him  off  his  balance  for  a  moment.  Then, 
readjusting  his  chair,  he  bade  me  good-day. 

*'  'Im  an'  me  'ave  bin  'avin'  an  arg'ment."  said 
Gunner  Barnabas  placidly.  **  I  was  going  for 
to  half  kill  an'  'eave  'im  into  the  bushes  'ere, 
but,  seein'  that  you  'ave  come,  sir,  and  very  wel- 
come when  you  do  come,  we  will  'ave  a  court- 


102  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

martial  instead.  Shaddock,  are  you  willin'?  " 
The  volcano,  who  had  been  swearing  uninterrupt- 
edly through  this  oration,  expressed  a  desire,  in 
general  and  particular  terms,  to  see  Gunner  Bar- 
nabas in  Torment  and  the  **  civilian  "  on  the  next 
gridiron. 

Private  Shacklock  was  a  tow-hair«d,  scrofulous 
boy  of  about  two-and-twenty.  His  nose  was  bleed- 
ing profusely,  and  the  live  air  attested  that  he  had 
been  drinking  quite  as  much  as  was  good  for  him. 
He  lay,  stomach-down,  on  a  little  level  spot  on 
the  hillside ;  for  Gunner  Barnabas  was  sitting  be- 
tween his  shoulder-blades,  and  his  was  not  a 
weight  to  wriggle  under.  Private  Shacklock  could 
barely  draw  breath  to  swear,  but  he  did  the  best 
that  in  him  lay.  * '  Amen, ' '  said  Gunner  Barnabas 
piously,  when  an  unusually  brilliant  string  of 
oaths  came  to  an  end.  **  Seein'  that  this  gentle- 
man 'ere  has  never  seen  the  inside  o '  the  orsepitals 
youVe  gotten  in,  and  the  clinks  you've  been 
chucked  into  like  a  hay-bundle,  ^er-haps.  Private 
Shacklock,  you  will  stop.  You  are  a-makin'  of 
'im  sick."  Private  Shacklock  said  that  he  was 
pleased  to  hear  it,  and  would  have  continued  his 
speech,  but  his  breath  suddenly  went  from  him, 


THE  LIKES  0'  US  103 

tnd  the  unfinislied  curse  died  out  in  a  gasp.  Gun- 
ler  Barnabas  had  put  up  one  of  his  huge  feet. 
*  There's  just  enough  room  now  for  you  to 
ireathe,  Shacklock/'  said  he,  ^*  an'  not  enough  for 
ou  to  try  to  interrupt  the  conversashin  I'm  a- 
lavin'  with  this  gentleman.  Choop!  ''  Turning 
0  me,  Gunner  Barnabas  pulled  at  his  pipe,  but 
howed  no  hurry  to  open  the  ^*  conversashin."  I 
elt  embarrassed,  for,  after  all,  the  thus  strangely 
nearthed  difference  between  the  Gunner  and  the 
jine  man  was  no  affair  of  mine.  '*  Don't  you 
:o,"  said  Gunner  Barnabas.  He  had  evidently 
een  deeply  moved  by  something.  He  dropped 
is  head  between  his  fists  and  looked  steadily  at 
le. 

**  I  met  this  child  'ere,"  said  he,  **  at  Deelally 
-a  fish-back  recruity  as  ever  was.  I  knowed  'im 
t  Deelally,  and  I  give  'im  a  latherin'  at  Deelally 
11  for  to  keep  'im  straight,  'e  bein'  such  as  wants 
,  latherin'  an'  knowin'  nuthin'  o'  the  ways  o'  this 
ountry.  Then  I  meets  'im  up  here,  a  butterfly- 
.untin'  as  innercent  as  you  please — convalessin'. 

goes  out  with  'im  butterfly-huntin',  and,  as  you 
ee  'ere,  a-shootin'.  The  gun  betwixt  us."  I 
aw  then,  what  I  had  overlooked  before,  a  Com- 


104  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

pany  fowling-piece  lying  among  some  boulders  fa 
down  the  hill.  Gunner  Barnabas  continued:  ** 
should  ha'  seen  where  he  had  a-bin  to  get  tha 
drink  inside  o '  'im.  Presently,  'e  misses  summa 
'  You're  a  bloomin'  fool/  sez  I.  *  If  that  ha 
been  a  Pathan,  now !  '  I  sez.  *  Damn  your  Ps 
thans,  an'  you,  too,'  sez  'e.  '  I  strook  it.'  '  Yo 
did  not,'  I  sez,  *  I  saw  the  bark  fly.'  *  Stick  t 
your  bloomin'  pop-guns,'  sez  'e,  *  an'  don't  tal 
to  a  better  man  than  you.'  I  laughed  ther( 
knowin'  what  I  was  an'  what  'e  was.  '  Yo 
laugh?  '  sez  he.  '  I  laugh,'  I  sez,  '  Shacklocl 
an'  for  what  should  I  not  laugh?  '  sez  I.  '  The: 
go  an'  laugh  in  Hell,'  sez  'e,  '  for  I'll  'ave  non 
of  your  laughin'.'  With  that  'e  brings  up  the  gu: 
yonder  and  looses  off,  and  I  stretches  'im  there 
and  guv  him  a  little  to  keep  'im  quiet,  and  put 
'im  under,  an'  while  I  was  thinkin'  what  nex 
you  comes  down  the  'ill,  an'  finds  us  as  we  was.' 

The  Private  was  the  Gunner's  prey — I  kne^ 
that  the  affair  had  fallen  as  the  Gunner  had  said 
for  my  friend  is  constitutionally  incapable  of  lyin^ 
— and  I  recognised  that  in  his  hands  lay  the  boy' 
fate. 

**  What  do  you  think?  "  said  Gunner  Barnabas 


THE  LIKES  0'  US  105 

tfter  a  silence  broken  only  by  the  convulsive 
reathing  of  the  boy  he  was  sitting  on.  '^  I  think 
othing/'  I  said.  ^^  He  didn't  go  at  me.  He's 
our  property.''  Then  an  idea  occurred  to  me. 
■  Hand  him  over  to  his  own  Company.  They'll 
chool  him  half  dead. "  ^  *  Got  no  Comp  'ny, ' '  said 
runner  Barnabas.  **  'E's  a  conv'lessint  draft — 
11  sixes  an'  sevens.  Don't  matter  to  them  what 
e  did."  **  Thrash  him  yourself,  then,"  I  said, 
runner  Barnabas  looked  at  the  man  and  smiled; 
tien  caught  up  an  arm,  as  a  mother  takes  up  the 
impled  arm  of  a  child,  and  ran  the  sleeve  and 
birt  up  to  the  elbow.  **  Look  at  that!  "  he  said, 
t  was  a  pitiful  arm,  lean  and  muscleless.  ^  *  Can 
ou  mill  a  man  with  an  arm  like  that — such  as  I 
^ould  like  to  mill  him,  an'  such  as  he  deserves? 

tell  you,  sir,  an'  I  am  not  smokin'  [swaggering], 
s  you  see — I  could  take  that  man — Sodger  'e  is, 
iord  'elp  'im! — an'  twis'  off  'is  arms  an'  'is  legs 
s  if  'e  was  a  naked  crab.     See  here!  " 

Before  I  could  realise  what  was  going  to  hap- 
en.  Gunner  Barnabas  rose  up,  stooped,  and  tak- 
ig  the  wretched  Private  Shacklock  by  two  points 
f  grasp,  heaved  him  up  above  his  head.  The 
oy  kicked  once  or  twice,  and  then  was  still.     He 


106  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

was  very  white.  **  I  could  now,"  said  Gunnel 
Barnabas,  ''  I  could  now  chuck  this  man  where 
I  like.  Chuck  him  like  a  lump  o'  beef,  an'  i1 
would  not  be  too  much  for  him  if  I  chucked.  Car 
I  thrash  such  a  man  with  both  'ands?  No,  noi 
yet  with  my  right  'and  tied  behind  my  back,  an 
my  lef '  in  a  sling." 

He  dropped  Private  Shacklock  on  the  ground 
and  sat  upon  him  as  before.  The  boy  groaned  as 
the  weight  settled,  but  there  was  a  look  in  his 
white-lashed,  red  eyes  that  was  not  pleasant. 

*^  I  do  not  know  what  I  will  do,"  said  Gunnei 
Barnabas,  rocking  himself  to  and  fro.  **  I  know 
'is  breed,  an'  the  way  o'  the  likes  o'  them.  If  1 
was  in  'is  Comp'ny,  an'  this  'ad  'appened,  an 
I  'ad  struck  'im,  as  I  would  ha'  struck  him 
'twould  ha  'all  passed  off  an'  bin  forgot  till  the 
drink  was  in  'im  again — a  month,  maybe,  or  six 
maybe.  An'  when  the  drink  was  frizzin'  in  'is 
'ead  he  would  up  and  loose  off  in  the  night  or  the 
day  or  the  evenin'.  All  acause  of  that  millin'  thai 
'e  would  ha'  forgotten  in  hetweens.  That  I  woulc 
be  dead — ^killed  by  the  likes  o'  'im,  an'  me  the 
next  strongest  man  but  three  in  the  Britisi 
Army!  " 


THE  LIKES  0»  US  107 

Private  Shacklock,  not  so  hardly  pressed  as  he 
ad  been,  found  breath  to  say  that  if  he  could 
Qly  get  hold  of  the  fowling-piece  again  the  stron- 
est  man  but  three  in  the  British  Army  would  be 
3riously  crippled  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  *  *  Hear 
lat!  ''  said  Gunner  Barnabas,  sitting  heavily  to 
ilence  his  chair.  ^'  Hear  that,  you  that  think 
lings  is  funny  to  put  into  the  papers !  He  would 
boot  me,  *e  would,  now;  an'  so  long  as  he's  drunk, 
r  comin'  out  o'  the  drink,  'e  will  want  to  shoot 
le.    Look  a-here !  ' ' 

He  turned  the  boy's  head  sideways,  his  hand 
3und  the  nape  of  the  neck,  his  thumb  touching  the 
Qgle  of  the  jaw.  **  What  do  you  call  those 
larks?  "  They  were  the  white  scars  of  scrofula, 
ith  which  Shacklock  was  eaten  up.  I  told  Gun- 
er  Barnabas  this.  '^  I  don't  know  what  that 
leans.     I  call  'em  murder-marks  an'  signs.     If 

man  'as  these  things  on  'im,  an'  drinks,  so  long 
s  'e's  drunk,  'e's  mad — a  looney.  But  that 
oesn't  'elp  if  'e  kills  you.  Look  a-here,  an' 
ere!  "  The  marks  were  thick  on  the  jaw  and 
eck.  **  Stubbs'  ad  'em,"  said  Gunner  Barnabas 
>  himself,  ^^  an'  Lancy  'ad  'em,  an'  Duggard  'ad 
^m,  an'  wot's  come  to  them?     You've  got  'em," 


108  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

he  said,  addressing  himself  to  the  man  he  wai 
handling  like  a  roped  calf,  *^  an'  sooner  or  late] 
you'll  go  with  the  rest  of  'em.  But  this  time  1 
will  not  do  anything — exceptin'  keep  you  here  til 
the  drink's  dead  in  you." 

Gunner  Barnabas  resettled  himself  and  con 
tinned:  *'  Twice  this  afternoon,  Shacklock,  yoi 
'ave  been  so  near  dyin'  that  I  know  no  man  mor( 
so.  Once  was  when  I  stretched  you,  an '  might  ha 
wiped  off  your  face  with  my  boot  as  you  was  lyin' 
an'  once  was  when  I  lifted  you  up  in  my  fists 
Was  you  afraid,  Shacklock  I  " 

**  I  were,"  murmured  the  half-stifled  soldier. 

*^  An'  once  more  I  will  show  you  how  near  yoi 
can  go  to  Kingdom  Come  in  my  'ands."  H( 
knelt  by  Shacklock 's  side,  the  boy  lying  stili  as 
death.  ^*  If  I  was  to  hit  you  here,"  said  he,  ''  1 
would  break  your  chest,  an'  you  would  die.  li 
I  was  to  put  my  'and  here,  an'  my  other  'and  here 
I  would  twis'  your  neck,  an'  you  would  die,  Privite 
Shacklock.  If  I  was  to  put  my  knees  here  an' 
put  your  'ead  so,  I  would  pull  off  your  'ead. 
Privite  Shacklock,  an'  you  would  die.  If  yon 
think  as  how  I  am  a  liar,  say  so,  an'  I'll  show  you. 
Do  you  think  so?  " 


THE  LIKES  0'  US  109 

"  No,"  whispered  Private  Shacklock,  not  daring 
X)  move  a  muscle,  for  Barnabas 's  hand  was  on 
lis  neck. 

**  Now,  remember,"  went  on  Barnabas, 
*  neither  you  will  say  nothing  nor  I  will  say 
10 thing  o'  what  has  happened.  I  ha'  put  you 
;o  shame  before  me  an'  this  gentleman  here,  an' 
;hat  is  enough.  But  I  tell  you,  an'  you  give  'eed 
low,  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  desert  than  to 
^0  on  a-servin'  where  you  are  now.  If  I  meets 
rou  again — if  my  Batt'ry  lays  with  your  Reg'- 
nent,  an'  Privite  Shacklock  is  on  the  rolls,  I  will 
irst  mill  you  myself  till  you  can't  see,  and  then 
[  will  say  why  I  strook  you.  You  must  go,  an' 
ook  bloomin'  slippy  about  it,  for  if  you  stay,  so 
5ure  as  God  made  Paythans  an'  we've  got  to  wipe 
'em  out,  you'll  be  loosing  off  o'  unauthorised  am- 
ninition — in  or  out  o'  barricks,  an'  you'll  be 
'anged  for  it.  I  know  your  breed,  an'  I  know  what 
;hese  'ere  white  marks  mean.  You're  mad, 
Shacklock,  that's  all — and  here  you  stay,  under 
ne.    An'  now  choop,  an'  lie  still." 

I  waited  and  smoked,  and  Gunner  Barnabas 
smoked  till  the  shadows  lengthened  on  the  hillside, 
and  a  chilly  wind  began  to  blow.    At  dusk  Gunner 


110  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

Barnabas  rose  and  looked  at  his  captive. 
**  Drink's  out  o'  'im  now,''  he  said. 

**  I  can't  move,"  whimpered  Shacklock.  ''  I've 
got  the  fever  back  again." 

*^  I'll  carry  you,"  said  Grunner  Barnabas,  swing- 
ing him  up  and  preparing  to  climb  the  hill. 
*^  Good-night,  sir,"  he  said  to  me.  **  It  looks 
pretty,  doesn't  it?  But  never  you  forget,  an'  I 
won't  forget  neither,  that  this  'ere  shiverin', 
shakin',  convalescent  a-hangin'  on  to  my  neck  is 
a  ragin',  tearin',  devil  when  'e's  lushy — an'  'e  a 
boy!" 

He  strode  up  to  the  hill  with  his  burden,  but 
just  before  he  disappeared  he  turned  round  and 
shouted:  *^  It's  the  likes  o'  'im  brings  shame  on 
the  likes  o'  us.  'Tain't  we  ourselves,  's'elp  me 
Gawd,  'tain't  •  " 


HIS  BROTHER'S  KEEPER 

"llTHISTr' 

^  ^     ^'  Can't  make  up  a  four?  " 

''  Poker,  then?  " 

**  Never  again  with  you,  Robin,  'Tisn't  good 
enough,  old  man." 

^*  Seeking  what  he  may  devour,"  murmured  a 
third  voice  from  behind  a  newspaper.  **  Stop 
the  punkah,  and  make  him  go  away." 

**  Don't  talk  of  it  on  a  night  like  this.  It's 
enough  to  give  a  man  fits.  You've  no  enterprise. 
Here  I've  taken  the  trouble  to  come  over  after 
dinner " 

/^  On  the  off-chance  of  skinning  some  one.  I 
don't  believe  you  ever  crossed  a  horse  for  pleas- 
ure." 

*^  That's  true,  I  never  did — and  there  are  only 
two  Johnnies  in  the  Club." 

''  They've  all  gone  off  to  the  Gaff." 

''  Wah!    Wah!    They  must  be  pretty  hard  up 
f6r  amusement.     Help  me  to  a  split." 
Ill 


112  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

^^  Split  in  this  weather!  Hi,  bearer,  do  hurra 
— hurra  whiskey-peg  lao,  and  just  put  all  the 
harf  into  them  that  you  can  find." 

The  newspaper  came  down  with  a  rustle,  as 
the  reader  said: 

**  How  the  deuce  d'you  expect  a  man  to  improve 
his  mind  when  you  two  are  hukhing  about  drinks? 
Qui  hai!     Mcra  tvasti  hhi," 

**  Oh!  you're  alive,  are  you"?  I  thought  pegs 
would  fetch  you  out  of  that.  Game  for  a  little 
poker!  '' 

''  Poker — ^poker — red-hot  poker!  Saveloy, 
you're  too  generous.  Can't  you  let  a  man  die  in 
peace?  " 

"  Who's  going  to  die?  " 

*^  I  am,  please  the  pigs,  if  it  gets  much  hotter 
and  that  bearer  doesn't  bring  the  peg  quickly." 

**  All  right.  Die  away,  mon  ami.  Only  don't 
do  it  in  the  Club,  that's  all.  Can't  have  it  littered 
up  with  dead  members.     Houligan  would  object." 

*  *■  By  Jove !  I  think  I  can  imagine  old  Houligan 
doing  it.  *  Member  dead  in  the  ante-room?  Good 
Gud!  Bless  my  soul!  Impossible  to  run  a  Club 
this  way.  Call  the  Babu  and  see  if  his  last 
month's  bill  is  paid.      Not  paid!      Good  Gud! 


HIS  BEOTHEE'S  KEEPEE  113 

Bless  my  soul!  Impossible  to  run  a  Club  this 
way.  Babu,  attach,  that  body  till  the  bill  is  paid.' 
Eevel,  you  might  just  hurry  up  your  dying  once 
in  a  way  to  give  us  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Houligan 
perform.'' 

**  I'll  die  legitimately,"  said  Eevel.  *'  I'm  not 
going  to  create  a  fresh  scandal  in  the  station. 
I'll  wait  for  heat-apoplexy,  or  whatever  is  going, 
to  come  and  fetch  me." 

**  This  is  pukka  hot-weather  talk,"  said  Saveloy. 
**  I  come  over  for  a  little  honest  poker,  and  find 
two  moderately  sensible  men,  Eevel  and  Dallston, 
talking  tombs.  I'm  sorry  I've  thrown  away  my 
valuable  evening." 

**  D'you  expect  us  to  talk  about  buttercups  and 
daisies,  then  I  "  said  Dallston. 

**  No,  but  there's  some  sort  of  medium  between 
those  and  Sudden  Death." 

'*  There  isn't.  I  haven't  seen  a  daisy  for  seven 
years,  and  now  I  want  to  die,"  said  Eevel,  plun- 
ging luxuriously  into  his  peg. 

**  I  knew  a  Johnnie  on  the  Frontier  once  who 
did/'  began  Dallston  meditatively. 

**  Half  a  minute.  Bearer,  cherut  lao!  Tobacco 
soothes  the  nerves  when  a  man  is  expecting  to 


114  ABAFT   THE  FUNNEL 

hear  a  whacker.  We  know  what  your  Frontier 
stories  are,  Martha. '  * 

Dallston  had  once,  in  a  misguided  moment,  taken 
the  part  of  Martha  in  the  burlesque  of  Faust j  and 
the  nickname  stuck. 

*^  'Tisn't  a  whacker,  it's  a  fact.  He  told  me 
so  himself. '' 

''  They  always  do,  Martha.  IVe  noticed  that 
before.     But  what  did  he  tell  you?  '* 

**  He  told  me  that  he  had  died.'* 

' '  Was  that  all  ?     Explain  him. ' ' 

**  It  was  this  way.  The  man  went  down  with 
a  bad  go  of  fever  and  was  off  his  head.  About 
the  second  day  it  struck  him  in  the  middle  of  the 
night.'' 

^^  Steady  the  Buffs!  Martha,  you  aren't  an 
Irishman  yet." 

**  Never  mind.  It's  too  hot  to  put  it  correctly. 
In  the  middle  of  the  night  he  woke  up  quite  calm, 
and  it  struck  him  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
to  die — just  as  it  might  ha'  struck  him  that  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  to  put  ice  on  his  head. 
He  lay  on  his  bed  and  thought  it  over,  and  the 
more  he  thought  about  it,  the  better  sort  of  hund- 
obust  it  seemed  to  be.     He  was  quite  calm,  you 


HIS  BROTHER'S  KEEPER  115 

know,  and  he  said  that  he  could  have  sworn  that 
he  had  no  fever  on  him. " 

"  Well,  what  happened?  '' 

**  Oh,  he  got  up  and  loaded  his  revolver — ^he 
remembers  all  this — and  let  fly,  with  the  muzzle 
to  his  temple.  The  thing  didn't  go  off,  so  he 
turned  it  up  and  found  he'd  forgot  to  load  one 
chamber." 

**  Better  stop  the  tale  there.  We  can  guess 
what's  coming." 

'*  Hang  it !  It's  a  true  yarn.  Well,  he  jammed 
the  thing  to  his  head  again,  and  it  missed  fire,  and 
he  said  that  he  felt  ready  to  cry  with  rage,  he 
was  so  disgusted.  So  he  took  it  by  the  muzzle 
and  hit  himself  on  the  head  with  it." 

''  Good  man!     Didn't  it  go  off  then?  " 

**  No,  but  the  blow  knocked  him  silly,  and  he 
thought  he  was  dead.  He  was  awfully  pleased, 
for  he  had  been  fiddling  over  the  show  for  nearly 
half  an  hour.  He  dropped  down  and  died.  When 
he  got  his  wits  again,  he  was  shaking  with  the 
fever  worse  than  ever,  but  he  had  sense  enough 
to  go  and  knock  up  the  doctor  and  give  himself 
into  his  charge  as  a  lunatic.  Then  he  went  clean 
off  his  head  till  the  fever  wore  out." 


116  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

''  That's  a  good  story,"  said  Bevel  critically. 
**I  didn't  think  you  had  it  in  you  at  this  season 
of  the  year." 

**  I  can  believe  it,"  said  the  man  they  called 
Saveloy.  *  *  Fever  makes  one  do  all  sorts  of  queer 
things.  I  suppose  your  friend  was  mad  with  it 
when  he  discovered  it  would  be  so  healthy  to 
die." 

**  S'pose  so.  The  fever  must  have  been  so 
bad  that  he  felt  all  right — same  way  that  a  man 
who  is  nearly  mad  with  drink  gets  to  look  sober. 
Well,  anyhow,  there  was  a  man  who  died." 

''  Did  he  tell  you  what  it  felt  like?  " 

*'  He  said  that  he  was  awfully  happy  until  his 
fever  came  back  and  shook  him  up.  Then  he 
was  sick  with  fear.  I  don't  wonder.  He'd  had 
rather  a  narrow  escape." 

**  That's  nothing,"  said  Saveloy.  "  I  know  a 
man  who  lived." 

*^  So  do  I,"  said  Eevel.  **  Lots  of  'em,  con- 
found 'em." 

*'  Now,  this  takes  Martha's  story,  and  it's  quite 
true." 

**  They  always  are,"  said  Martha.  **  I've 
noticed  that  before." 


HIS  BEOTHER'S  KEEPER  117 

^*  Never  mind,  I'll  forgive  you.  But  this  hap- 
pened to  me.  Since  you  are  talking  tombs,  I'll 
assist  at  the  seance.  It  was  i^  '82  or  '83, 1  have 
forgotten  which.  Anyhow,  it  was  when  I  was 
on  the  Utamamula  Cana^  Headworks,  and  I  was 
chumming  with  a  man  called  Stovey.  You've 
never  met  him  because  he  belongs  to  the  Bombay 
side,  and  if  he  isn't  really  dead  by  this  he  ought 
to  be  somewhere  there  now.  He  was  a  pukka 
sweep,  and  I  hated  him.  We  divided  the  Canal 
bungalow  between  us,  and  we  kept  strictly  to  our 
own  side  of  the  buildings." 

**  Hold  on!  I  call.  What  was  Stovey  to  look 
at?  "  said  Revel. 

**  Living  picture  of  the  King  of  Spades — a 
blackish,  greasy  sort  of  ruffian  who  hadn't  any 
pretence  of  manners  or  form.  He  used  to  dine 
in  the  kit  he  had  been  messing  about  the  Canal 
in  all  day,  and  I  don't  believe  he  ever  washed. 
He  had  the  embankments  to  look  after,  and  I  was 
in  charge  of  the  headworks,  but  he  was  always 
contriving  to  fall  foul  of  me  if  he  possibly  could." 

*^  I  know  that  sort  of  man.  Mullane  of  Ghori- 
dasah's  built  that  way." 

**  Don't  know  Mullane,  but  Stovey  was  a  sweep. 


118  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

Canal  work  isn't  exactly  cheering,  and  it  doesn't 
take  you  into  much  society.  We  were  like  a  couple 
of  rats  in  a  burrow,  grubbing  and  scooping  all 
day  and  turning  in  at  night  into  the  barn  of  a 
bungalow.  Well,  this  man  Stovey  didn't  get  fever. 
He  was  so  coated  with  dirt  that  I  don't  believe 
the  fever  could  have  got  at  him.  He  just  began 
to  go  mad." 
**  Cheerful!  What  were  the  symptoms?  " 
*'  Well,  his  naturally  vile-  temper  grew  in- 
famous. It  was  really  unsafe  to  speak  to  him, 
and  he  always  seemed  anxious  to  murder  a  coolie 
or  two.  With  me,  of  course,  he  restrained  him- 
self a  little,  but  he  sulked  like  a  bear  for  days 
and  days  together.  As  he  was  the  only  European 
society  within  sixty  miles,  you  can , imagine  how 
nice  it  was  for  me.  He'd  sit  at  table  and  sulk 
and  stare  at  the  opposite  wall  by  the  hour — instead 
of  doing  his  work.  When  I  pointed  out  that  the 
Government  didn't  send  us  into  these  cheerful 
places  to  twiddle  our  thumbs,  he  glared  like  a 
beast.  Oh,  he  was  a  thorough  hog!  He  had  a 
lot  of  other  endearing  tricks,  but  the  worst  was 
when  he  began  to  pray." 
*^  Began  to — ^how'much?  " 


HIS  BROTHEE'S  KEEPER  119 

**  Pray.  He'd  got  hold  of  an  old  copy  of  the 
Var  Cry  and  used  to  read  it  at  meals;  and  I 
luppose  that  that,  on  the  top  of  tough  goat,  dis- 
►rdered  his  intellect.  One  night  I  heard  him  in 
lis  room  groaning  and  talking  at  a  fearful  rate, 
^ext  morning  I  asked  him  if  he'd  been  taken 
^orse.  *  I've  been  engaged  in  prayer,'  he  said, 
ooking  as  black  as  thunder.  *  A  man's  spiritual 
loncerns  are  his  own  property.'  One  night — 
le'd  kept  up  these  spiritual  exercises  for  about 
en  days,  growing  queerer  and  queerer  every  day 
—he  said  *  Good-night  '  after  dinner,  and  got  up 
ind  shook  hands  with  me." 

*'  Bad  sign,  that,"  said  Revel,  sucking  indus- 
riously  at  his  cheroot. 

**  At  first  I  couldn't  make  out  what  the  man 
wanted.  No  fellow  shakes  hands  with  a  fellow 
le's  living  with — ^least  of  all  such  a  beast  as 
^tovey.  However,  I  was  civil,  but  the  minute 
ifter  he'd  left  the  room  it  struck  me  what  he 
;vas  going  to  do.  If  he  hadn't  shaken  hands 
['d  have  taken  no  notice,  I  suppose.  This  un- 
isual  effusion  put  me  on  my  guard." 

**  Curious  thing!  You  can  nearly  always  tell 
jv'hen  a  Johnnie  means  pegging  out.     He  gives 


120  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

himself  away  by  some  softening.  It's  human 
nature.     What  did  you  do?  " 

^^  Called  him  back,  and  asked  him  what  the 
this  and  that  he  meant  by  interfering  with  my 
coolies  in  the  day.  He  was  generally  hampering 
my  men,  but  I  had  never  taken  any  notice  of  his 
vagaries  till  then.  In  another  minute  we  were 
arguing  away,  hammer  and  tongs.  If  it  had  been 
any  other  man  I'd  'a'  simply  thrown  the  lamp  at 
his  head.  He  was  calling  me  all  the  mean  names 
under  the  sun,  accusing  me  of  misusing  my  au- 
thority and  goodness  only  knows  what  all.  When 
he  had  talked  himself  down  one  stretch,  I  had 
only  to  say  a  few  words  to  start  him  off  again, 
as  fresh  as  a  daisy.  On  my  word,  this  jabbering 
went  on  for  nearly  three  hours." 

<<  Why  didn't  you  get  coolies  and  have  him 
tied  up,  if  you  thought  he  was  mad?  "  asked 
Eevel. 

**  Not  a  safe  business,  believe  me.  Wrongful 
restraint  on  your  own  responsibility  of  a  man 
nearly  your  own  standing  looks  ugly.  Well, 
Stovey  went  on  bullying  me  and  complaining 
about  everything  I'd  ever  said  or  done  since  I 
came  on  the  Canal,  till — ^he  went  fast  asleep." 


HIS  BEOTHER'S  KEEPER  121 

''  Wha-at?  '' 

**  Went  off  dead  asleep,  just  as  if  he'd  been 
Irugged.  I  thought  the  brute  had  had  a  fit  at 
irst,  but  there  he  was,  with  his  head  hanging  a 
Lttle  on  one  side  and  his  mouth  open.  I  knocked 
ip  his  bearer  and  told  him  to  take  the  man  to 
led.  We  carried  him  off  and  shoved  him  on  his 
harpoy.  He  was  still  asleep,  and  I  didn't  think 
t  worth  while  to  undress  him.  The  fit,  whatever 
t  was,  had  worked  itself  out,  and  he  was  limp 
,nd  used  up.  But  as  I  was  going  to  leave  the 
oom,  and  went  to  turn  the  lamp  down,  I  looked 
Q  the  glass  and  saw  that  he  was  watching  me 
letween  his  eyelids.  When  I  spun  round  he 
eemed  asleep.  *  That's  your  game,  is  it?  '  I 
bought,  and  I  stood  over  him  long  enough  to  see 
hat  he  was  shamming.  Then  I  cast  an  eye  round 
he  room  and  saw  his  Martini  in  the  corner.  We 
vere  all  bullumteers  on  the  Canal  works.  I 
ouldn't  find  the  cartridges,  so  to  make  all  serene 
knocked  the  breech-pin  out  with  the  cleaning-rod 
nd  went  to  my  own  room.  I  didn't  go  to  sleep 
or  some  time.  About  one  o'clock — our  rooms 
rere  only  divided  by  a  door  of  sorts,  and  my  bed 
ras  close  to  it — I  heard  my  friend  open  a  chest 


122  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

of  drawers.  Then  lie  went  for  the  Martini.  Oi 
course,  the  breech-block  came  out  with  a  rattle 
Then  he  went  back  to  bed  again,  and  I  nearlj 
laughed. 

^^  Next  morning  he  was  doing  the  genial,  hail 
fellow-well-met  trick.  Said  he  was  afraid  he'c 
lost  his  temper  overnight,  and  apologised  for  it 
About  half  way  through  breakfast — ^he  was  talking 
thickly  about  everything  and  anything — ^he  saic 
he'd  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  beard  was  i 
beastly  nuisance  and  made  one  stuffy.  He  was 
going  to  shave  his.  Would  I  lend  him  my  razors' 
*  Oh,  you're  a  crafty  beast,  you  are,'  I  said  to  my 
self.  I  told  him  that  I  was  of  the  other  opinion 
and  finding  my  razors  nearly  worn  out  hac 
chucked  them  into  the  Canal  only  the  night  before 
He  gave  me  one  look  under  his  eyebrows  and  weni 
on  with  his  breakfast.  I  was  in  a  stew  lest  th( 
man  should  cut  his  throat  with  one  of  the  break 
fast  knives,  so  I  kept  one  eye  on  him  most  of  th( 
time. 

'*  Before  I  left  the  bungalow  I  caught  old  Jee 
wun  Singh,  one  of  the  mistries  on  the  gates,  anc 
gave  him  strict  orders  that  he  was  to  keep  ii 
sight  of  the  Sahib  wherever  he  went  and  whatevei 


HIS  BROTHER'S  KEEPER  123 

le  did;  and  if  he  did  or  tried  to  do  anything  fool- 
sh,  such  as  jumping  down  the  well,  Jeewun  Singh 
ras  to  stop  him.  The  old  man  tumbled  at  once, 
tnd  I  was  easier  in  my  mind  when  I  saw  how 
le  was  shadowing  Stovey  up  and  down  the  works. 
Chen  I  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  old  Baggs, 
he  Civil  Surgeon  at  Chemanghath,  about  sixty 
ailes  off,  telling  him  how  we  stood.  The  runner 
eft  about  three  o'clock.  Jeewun  Singh  turned 
ip  at  the  end  of  the  day  and  gave  a  full,  true 
md  particular  account  of  Stovey 's  doings.  D'you 
310W  what  the  brute  had  done?  ' ' 

**  Spare  us  the  agony.  Kill  him  straight  off, 
kveloy!  " 

**  He'd  stopped  the  runner,  opened  the  bag,  read 
ny  letter  and  torn  it  up !  There  were  only  two 
etters  in  the  bag,  both  of  which  I'd  written.  I 
vas  pretty  average  angry,  but  I  lay  low.  At 
linner  he  said  he'd  got  a  touch  of  dysentery  and 
ranted  some  chlorodyne.  For  a  man  anxious  to 
lepart  this  life  he  was  about  as  badly  equipped 
LS  you  could  wish.  Hadn't  even  a  medicine-chest 
o  play  with.  He  was  no  more  suffering  from 
lysentery  than  I,  but  I  said  I'd  give  him  the 
ihlorodyne,  and  so  I  did — ^fifteen  drops,  mixed  in 


124  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

a  wine-glass,  and  when  he  asked  for  the  bottle  I 
said  that  I  hadn't  any  more. 

**  That  night  he  began  praying  again,  and  I 
just  lay  in  bed  and  shuddered.  He  was  invoking 
the  most  blasphemous  curses  on  my  head — all  in 
a  whisper,  for  fear  of  waking  me  up — for  frus- 
trating what  he  called  his  *  great  .and  holy  pur- 
pose.' You  never  heard  anything  like  it.  But 
as  long  as  he  was  praying  I  knew  he  was  alive, 
and  he  ran  his  praying  half  through  the  night. 

**  Well,  for  the  next  ten  days  he  was  apparently 
quite  rational ;  but  I  watched  him  and  told  Jeewun 
Singh  to  watch  him  like  a  cat.  I  suppose  he 
wanted  to  throw  me  off  my  guard,  but  I  wasn't 
to  be  thrown.  I  grew  thin  watching  him.  Baggs 
wrote  in  to  say  he  had  gone  on  tour  and  couldn't 
be  found  anywhere  in  particular  for  another  six 
weeks.     It  was  a  ghastly  time. 

**  One  day  old  Jeewun  Singh  turned  up  with 
a  bit  of  paper  that  Stovey  had  given  to  one  of 
the  hilars  as  a  nahsha.  I  thought  it  was  mean 
work  spying  into  another  man's  very  plans,  but 
when  I  saw  what  was  on  the  paper  I  gave  old 
Jeewun  Singh  a  rupee.  It  was  a  be-autiful  little 
breech-pin.    The  one-idead  idiot  had  gone  back  to 


HIS  BEOTHEE'S  KEEPER  125 

\iartini!  I  never  dreamt  of  such  persistence. 
Tell  me  when  the  lohar  gives  it  to  the  Sahib,'  I 
jaid,  and  I  felt  more  comfy  for  a  few  days.  Even 
f  Jeewun  Singh  hadn't  split  I  should  have  known 
\rhen  the  new  breech-pin  was  made.  The  brute 
;ame  in  to  dinner  with  a  dashed  confident,  tri- 
miphant  air,  as  if  he'd  done  me  in  the  eye  at 
ast;  and  all  through  dinner  he  was  fiddling  in 
lis  waistcoat  pocket.  He  went  to  bed  early.  I 
vent,  too,  and  I  put  my  head  against  the  door 
md  listened  like  a  woman.  I  must  have  been 
jhivering  in  my  pyjamas  for  about  two  hours  be- 
fore my  friend  went  for  the  dismantled  Martini, 
ae  could  not  get  the  breech-pin  to  fit  at  first. 
Ee  rummaged  about,  and  then  I  heard  a  file  go. 
Chat  seemed  to  make  too  much  noise  to  suit  his 
!ancy,  so  he  opened  the  door  and  went  out  into 
;he  compound,  and  I  heard  him,  about  fifty  yards 
)ff,  filing  in  the  dark  at  that  breech-pin  as  if  he 
lad  been  possessed.  Well,  he  was,  you  know, 
rhen  he  came  back  to  the  light,  cursing  me  for 
seeping  him  out  of  his  rest  and  the  peace  of 
Abraham's  bosom.  As  soon  as  I  heard  him  tak- 
ing up  the  Martini,  I  ran  round  to  his  door  and 
tried  to  enter  gaily,  as  the  stage  directions  say. 


126  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

*  Lend  me  your  gun,  old  man,  if  you're  awake,' 
I  said.  *  There's  a  howling  big  brute  of  a  pariah 
in  my  room,  and  I  want  to  get  a  shot  at  it.'  I 
pretended  not  to  notice  that  he  was  standing  over 
the  gun,  but  just  pranced  up  and  caught  hold  of 
it.  He  turned  round  with  a  jump  and  said :  *  I'm 
sick  of  this.     I'll  see  that  dog,  and  if  it's  another 

of  your  lies  I'll '     You  know  I'm  not  a  moral 

man." 

*  *  Hear !  hear !  ' '  drowsily  from  Martha. 

'*  But  I  simply  daren't  repeat  what  he  said- 

*  All  right !  '  I  said,  still  hanging  on  to  the  gun, 

*  Come  along  and  we'll  bowl  him  over.'  He  fol- 
lowed me  into  my  room  with  a  face  like  a  fiend 
in  torment.  And,  as  truly  as  I'm  yarning  here, 
there  was  a  huge  brindled  beast  of  a  pariah  sitting 
on  my  bed!  " 

**  Tall,  sir,  tall.  But  go  on.  The  audience  is 
now  awake." 

*  *  Hang  it !  Could  I  have  invented  that  pariah? 
Stovey  dropped  of  the  gun  and  flopped  down  in 
a  comer  and  yowled.  I  went '  ee  ki  ri  hi  re!  '  like 
a  woman  in  hysterics,  pitched  the  gun  forward 
and  loosed  off  through  a  window." 

''  And  the  pariah?  " 


HIS  BROTHER'S  KEEPER  127 

*^  He  quitted  for  the  time  being.  Stovey  was 
n  an  awful  state.  He  swore  the  animal  hadn't 
)een  there  when  I  called  him.  That  was  true 
snough.  I  firmly  believe  Providence  put  it  there 
o  save  me  from  being  killed  by  the  infuriated 
5tovey.'' 

^*  YouVe  too  lively  a  belief  in  Providence  alto- 
gether.    What  happened?  '' 

**  Stovey  tried  to  recover  himself  and  pass  it 
ill  over,  but  he  let  me  keep  the  gun  and  went  to 
led.  About  two  days  afterwards  old  Baggs 
umed  up  on  tour,  and  I  told  him  Stovey  wanted 
snatching — ^more  than  I  could  give  him.  I  don't 
:now  whether  Baggs  or  the  pi  did  it,  but  he  didn't 
hrow  any  more  suicidal  splints.  I  was  trans- 
erred  a  little  while  afterwards." 

**  Ever  meet  the  man  again?  " 

*^Yes;  once  at  Sheik  Katan  dak  bungalow — 
railing  the  big  brindle  pi  after  him." 

*^  Oh,  it  was  real,  then.  I  thought  it  was  ar- 
anged  for  the  occasion." 

*  *  Not  a  bit.  It  was  a  pukka  pi.  Stovey  seemed 
o  remember  me  in  the  same  way  that  a  horse 
eems  to  remember.  I  fancy  his  brain  was  a 
Lttle     cloudy.       We     tiffined     together — after 


128  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

the  pi  had  been  fed,  if  you  please — and  Stovey 
said  to  me:  *  See  that  dogt  He  saved  my  life 
once.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  belfeve  you  were  there, 
too,  weren't  you?  '  I  shouldn't  care  to  work  with 
Stovey  again.'' 

There  was  a  holy  pause  in  the  smoking-room  of 
the  Toopare  Club. 

**What  I  like  about  Saveloy's  play,"  said 
Martha,  looking  at  the  ceiling,  *  *  is  the  beautifully 
artistic  way  in  which  he  follows  up  a  flush  with 
a  full.     Go  to  bed,  old  man!  " 


''  SLEIPNER/'   LATE    ''  THURINDA  " 

There  are  men,  both  good  and  wise,  who  hold  that  in  a  future 
state 
Dumb  creatures  we  have  cherished  here  below 
Will  give  us  joyous  welcome  as  we  pass  the  Golden  Gate. 
Is  it  folly  if  I  hope  it  may  be  so? 

— The  Place  Where  the  Old  Horse  Died. 

TF  there  were  any  explanation  available  here,  I 
should  be  the  first  person  to  offer  it.  Un- 
fortunately, there  is  not,  and  I  am  compelled  to 
confine  myself  to  the  facts  of  the  case  as  vouched 
for  by  Hordene  and  confirmed  by  **  Gruj,"  who  is 
the  last  man  in  the  world  to  throw  away  a  valuable 
horse  for  nothing. 

Jale  came  up  with  TJiurinda  to  the  Shayid 
Spring  meeting;  and  besides  TImrinda  his  string 
included  Divorce,  Meg's  Diversions  and  Benoni — 
ponies  of  sorts.  He  won  the  Officers'  Scurry — 
five  furlongs — ^with  Benoni  on  the  first  day,  and 
that  sent  up  the  price  of  the  stable  in  the  evening 
lotteries ;  for  Benoni  was  the  worst-looking  of  the 
three,  being  a  pigeon-toed,  split-chested  dak  horse, 

129 


130  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

with  a  wonderful  gift  of  blundering  in  on  his 
shoulders — ridden  out  to  the  last  ounce — but  first. 
Next  day  Jale  was  riding  Divorce  in  the  Wattle 
and  Dab  Stakes — round  the  jump  course ;  and  she 
turned  over  at  the  on-and-off  course  when  she 
was  leading  and  managed  to  break  her  neck.  She 
never  stirred  from  the  place  where  she  dropped, 
and  Jale  did  not  move  either  till  he  was  carried 
off  the  ground  to  his  tent  close  to  the  big  shamiana 
where  the  lotteries  were  held.  He  had  ricked  his 
back,  and  everything  below  the  hips  was  as  dead 
as  timber.  Otherwise  he  was  perfectly  well.  The 
doctor  said  that  the  stiffness  would  spread  and 
that  he  would  die  before  morning.  Jale  insisted 
upon  knowing  the  worst,  and  when  he  heard  it 
sent  a  pencil  note  to  the  Honorary  Secretary, 
saying  that  they  were  not  to  stop  the  races  or  do 
anything  foolish  of  that  kind.  If  he  hung  on  till 
the  next  day  the  nominations  for  the  third  day's 
racing  would  not  be  void,  and  he  would  settle  up 
all  claims  before  he  threw  up  his  hand.  This 
relieved  the  Honorary  Secretary,  because  most  of 
the  horses  had  come  from  a  long  distance,  and, 
under  any  circumstance,  even  had  the  Judge 
dropped  dead  in  the  box,  it  would  have  been  im- 


^^  SLEIPNEE,'^  LATE  ^^THUEINDA  "     131 

possible  to  have  postponed  the  racing.  There 
was  a  great  deal  of  money  on  the  third  day,  and 
^ve  or  six  of  the  owners  were  gentlemen  who 
would  make  even  one  day's  delay  an  excuse.  Well, 
settling  would  not  be  easy.  No  one  knew  much 
about  Jale.  He  was  an  outsider  from  down 
country,  but  every  one  hoped  that,  since  he  was 
doomed,  he  would  live  through  the  third  day  and 
save  trouble. 

Jale  lay  on  his  charpoy  in  the  tent  and  asked  the 
doctor  and  the  man  who  catered  to  the  refresh- 
ments— ^he  was  the  nearest  at  the  time — to  witness 
his  will.  **  I  don't  know  how  long  my  arms  will 
be  workable,"  said  Jale,  **  and  we'd  better  get 
this  business  over."  The  private  arrangements 
of  the  will  concern  nobody  but  Jale's  friends;  but 
there  was  one  clause  that  was  rather  curious. 
**  Who  was  that  man  with  the  brindled  hair  who 
put  me  up  for  a  night  until  the  tent  was  ready? 
The  man  who  rode  down  to  pick  me  up  when  I 
was  smashed.  Nice  sort  of  fellow  he  seemed." 
**  Hordene?  "  said  the  doctor.  *^  Yes,  Hordene. 
Good  chap,  Hordene.  He  keeps  Bull  whisky. 
Write  down  that  I  give  this  Johnnie  Hordene 
Thurinda  for  his  own,  if  he  can  sell  the  other 


132  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

ponies.  Thurinda's  a  good  mare.  He  can  enter 
her — post-entry — for  the  All  Horse  Sweep  if  he 
likes — on  the  last  day.  Have  you  got  that  down? 
I  suppose  the  Stewards '11  recognise  the  gift?  " 
**  No  trouble  about  that,"  said  the  doctor.  **  All 
right.  Give  him  the  other  two  ponies  to  selL 
They're  entered  for  the  last  day,  but  I  shall  be 

dead  then.    Tell  him  to  send  the  money  to " 

Here  he  gave  an  address.  **  Now  I'll  sign  and 
you  sign,  and  that's  all.  This  deadness  is  coming 
up  between  my  shoulders." 

Jale  lived,  dying  very  slowly,  till  the  third  day's 
racing,  and  up  till  the  time  of  the  lotteries  on  the 
fourth  day's  racing.  The  doctor  was  rather  sur- 
prised. Hordene  came  in  to  thank  him  for  his 
gift,  and  to  suggest  it  would  be  much  better  to 
sell  Thurmda  with  the  others.  She  was  the  best  of 
them  all,  and  would  have  fetched  twelve  hundred 
on  her  looking-over  merits  only.  **  Don't  you 
bother,"  said  Jale.  ''  You  take  her.  I  rather 
liked  you.  I've  got  no  people,  and  that  Bull 
whisky  was  first-class  stuff.  I'm  pegging  out 
now,  I  think." 

The  lottery-tent  outside  was  beginning  to  fill, 
and  Jale  heard  the  click  of  the  dice.    **  That's  all 


*^  SLEIPNEE/'  LATE  ^^THURINDA"     133 

right, ' '  said  he.  * '  I  wish  I  was  there,  but — I  'm — 
going  to  the  drawer.''  Then  he  died  quietly. 
Hordene  went  into  the  lottery-tent,  after  calling 
the  doctor.  *^  How's  Jalel  "  said  the  Honorary 
Secretary.  **  Gone  to  the  drawer,"  said  Hordene, 
settling  into  a  chair  and  reaching  out  for  a  lottery 
paper.  ^ '  Poor  beggar !  ' '  said  the  Honorary 
Secretary.  ^'  'Twasn't  the  fault  of  our  on-and- 
off,  though.  The  mare  blundered.  Gentlemen! 
gentlemen!  Nine  hundred  and  eighty  rupees  in 
the  lottery,  and  River  of  Years  for  sale!  "  The 
lottery  lasted  far  into  the  night,  and  there  was  a 
supplementary  lottery  on  the  All  Horse  Sweep, 
where  Thurinda  sold  for  a  song,  and  was  not 
bought  by  her  owner.  **  It's  not  lucky,"  said 
Hordene,  and  the  rest  of  the  men  agreed  with 
him.  **  I  ride  her  myself,  but  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  her,  and  I  wish  to  goodness  I  hadn't 
taken  her,"  said  he.  **  Oh,  bosh!  Never  refuse 
a  horse  or  a  drink,  however  you  come  by  them. 
No  one  objects,  do  they?  Not  going  to  refer  this 
matter  to  Calcutta,  are  we?  Here,  somebody,  bid ! 
Eleven  hundred  and  fifty  rupees  in  the  lottery, 
and  Thurinda — absolutely  unknown,  acquired  un- 
der the  most  dramatic  circumstances  from  about 


134  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

the  toughest  man  it  has  ever  been  my  good  for- 
tune to  meet — for  sale.  Hullo,  Nurji,  is  that  you! 
Gentlemen,  where  a  Pagan  bids  shall  enlightened 
Christians  hang  back?  Ten!  Going,  going, 
gone!  '^  ^*  You  want  ha-af,  sar?  "  said  the  bat- 
tered native  trainer  to  Hordene.  ^'  No,  thanks — 
not  a  bit  of  her  for  me.'' 

The  All  Horse  Sweep  was  run,  and  won  by 
Thurinda  by  about  a  street  and  three-quarters,  to 
be  very  accurate,  amid  derisive  cheers,  which 
Hordene,  who  flattered  himself  that  he  knew  some- 
thing about  riding,  could  not  understand.  On 
pulling  up  he  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  saw 
that  the  second  horse  was  only  just  passing  the 
box.  **  Now,  how  did  I  make  such  a  fool  of  my- 
self? "  he  said  as  he  returned  to  weigh  out.  His 
friends  gathered  round  him  and  asked  tenderly 
whether  this  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  got  up, 
and  whether  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  the 
winning  horse  should  be  ridden  out  when  the  field 
were  hopelessly  pumped,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  be- 
hind, etc.,  etc.  *^  I — I — thought  River  of  Years 
was  pressing  me,''  explained  Hordene.  ''River 
of  Years  was  wallowing,  absolutely  wallowing," 
said  a  man,  **  before  you  turned  into  the  straight. 


**  SLEIPNER,'^  LATE  *  ^  THURIIJDA  ' '     135 

You  rode  like  a — hang  it — like  a  Militia  subal- 
tern!?' 

The  Shayid  Spring  meeting  broke  up  and  the 
sportsmen  turned  their  steps  towards  the  next 
carcase — the  Ghoriah  Spring.  With  them  went 
Thurinda's  owner,  the  happy  possessor  of  an  al- 
most perfect  animal.  **  She's  as  easy  as  a  Pull- 
man car  and  about  twice  as  fast,''  he  was  wont 
to  say  in  moments  of  confidence  to  his  intimates. 
*^  For  all  her  bulk,  she's  as  handy  as  a  polo-pony; 
a  child  might  ride  her,  and  when  she's  at  the  post 
she's  as  cute — she's  as  cute  as  the  bally  starter 
himself."  Many  times  had  Hordene  said  this,  till 
at  last  one  unsympathetic  friend  answered  with: 
**  When  a  man  hukhs  too  much  about  his  wife  or 
his  horse,  it's  a  sure  sign  he's  trying  to  make  him- 
self like  'em.    I  mistrust  your  Thurinda,    She's 

too    good,    or    else "      **  Or    else    what?  " 

**  You're  trying  to  believe  you  like  her."  **  Like 
her!  I  love  her!  I  trust  that  darling  as  I'm 
shot  if  I  'd  trust  you.  I  'd  hack  her  for  tuppence. ' ' 
**  Hack  away,  then.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your 
feelings.  I  don't  hack  my  stable  myself,  but  some 
horses  go  better  for  it.  Come  and  peacock  at  the 
band-stand  this  evening. ' '    To  the  band-stand  ae- 


136  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

cordingly  Hordene  came,  and  the  lovely  Thurinda 
comported  herself  with  all  the  gravity  and  de- 
corum that  might  have  been  expected.  Hordene 
rode  home  with  the  scoffer,  through  the  dusk, 
discoursing  on  matters  indifferent.  **  Hold  up  a 
minute,"  said  his  friend,  **  there's  Gagley  riding 
behind  us. ' '  Then,  raising  his  voice : '  *  Come  along, 
Gragley!  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  the  Race 
Ball. ' '  But  no  Gagley  came ;  and  the  couple  went 
forward  at  a  trot.  *'  Hang  it!  There's  that  man 
behind  us  still."  Hordene  listened  and  could 
clearly  hear  the  sound  of  a  horse  trotting,  ap- 
parently just  behind  them.  *'  Come  on,  Gagley! 
Don't  play  bo-peep  in  that  ridiculous  way," 
shouted  the  friend.  Again  no  Gagley.  Twenty 
yards  farther  there  was  a  crash  and  a  stumble  as 
the  friend's  horse  came  down  over  an  unseen  rat- 
hole.  *^  How  much  damaged?  "  asked  Hordene. 
^^  Sprained  my  wrist,"  was  the  dolorous  answer, 
^  *  and  there  is  something  wrong  with  my  knee-cap. 
There  goes  my  mount  to-morrow,  and  this  gee  is 
cut  like  a  cab-horse." 

On  the  first  day  of  the  Ghoriah  meeting  Thu- 
rinda was  hopelessly  ridden  out  by  a  native  jockey, 
to  whose  care  Hordene  had  at  the  last  moment 


^^SLEIPNER/'  LATE  ^^THURINDA ''     137 

)een  compelled  to  confide  her.  '^  You  forsaken 
diot!  "  said  he,  ^^  what  made  you  begin  riding  as 
loon  as  you  were  clear  ?  She  had  everything  safe, 
f  you'd  only  left  her  alone.  You  rode  her  out 
)efore  the  home  turn,  you  hog! ''  **  What  could 
;  do?  ''  said  the  jockey  sullenly.  '*  I  was  pressed 
>y  another  horse."  **  Whose  '  other  horse  '? 
Chere  were  twenty  yards  of  daylight  between  you 
md  the  ruck.  If  you'd  kept  her  there  even  then 
twouldn't  ha'  mattered.  But  you  rode  her  out — 
^ou  rode  her  out!  "  **  There  was  another  horse 
md  he  pressed  me  to  the  end,  and  when  I  looked 
ound  he  was  no  longer  there."  Let  us,  in 
harity,  draw  a  veil  over  Hordene's  language  at 
his  point.  **  Goodness  knows  whether  she'll  be 
it  to  pull  out  again  for  the  last  event.  D — ^n  you 
md  your  other  horses!  I  wish  I'd  broken  your 
leck  before  letting  you  get  up !  "  Thurinda  was 
lone  to  a  turn,  and  it  seemed  a  cruelty  to  ask  her 
0  run  again  in  the  last  race  of  the  day.  Hordene 
ode  this  time,  and  was  careful  to  keep  the  mare 
rithin  herself  at  the  outset.  Once  more  Thurinda 
eft  her  field — ^with  one  exception — a  grey  horse 
hat  hung  upon  her  flanks  and  could  not  be  shaken 
»ff.    The  mare  was  done,  and  refused  to  answer 


138  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

the  call  upon  her.  She  tried  hopelessly  in  th( 
straight  and  was  caught  and  passed  by  her  olc 
enemy,  Biver  of  Years — the  chestnut  of  Kurnaul 
**  You  rode  well — like  a  native,  Hordene,'*  was 
the  unflattering  comment.  *'  The  mare  was  rid 
den  out  before  River  of  Years.*'  ' '  ]But  the  grey, ' 
began  Hordene,  and  then  ceased,  for  he  knew  thai 
there  was  no  grey  in  the  race.  Blue  Point  anc 
Diamond  Bust,  the  only  greys  at  the  meeting,  wer( 
running  in  the  Arab  Handicap. 

He  caught  his  native  jockey.  **  What  horse 
d'you  say,  pressed  you?  "  ^*  I  don't  know.  11 
was  a  grey  with  nutmeg  tickings  behind  the  sad- 
dle." That  evening  Hordene  sought  the  greal 
Major  Blare-Tyndar,  who  knew  personally  the 
father,  mother  and  ancestors  of  almost  every  horse 
brought  from  ehha  or  ship,  that  had  ever  set  fool 
on  an  Indian  race-course.  **  Say,  Major,  what  is 
a  grey  horse  with  nutmeg  tickings  behind  the  sad- 
dle? "  **  A  curiosity.  Wendell  Holmes  is  a  grey 
with  nutmeg  on  the  near  shoulder,  but  there  is  no 
horse  marked  your  way,  now.''  Then,  after  a 
pause:  **  No,  I'm  wrong — ^you  ought  to  know. 
The  pony  that  got  you  Thurinda  was  grey  and  nut- 
meg."   **  How  much?  "    ''  Divorce,   of   course. 


^^SLEIPNER,"  LATE  ^^THUEINDA  "     139 

The  mare  that  broke  her  neck  at  the  Shayid  meet- 
ing and  killed  Jale.  A  big  thirteen- three  she  was. 
I  recollect  when  she  was  hacking  old  Snuffy  Beans 
to  office.  He  bought  her  from  a  dealer,  who  had 
her  left  on  his  hands  as  a  rejection  when  the  Pink 
Hussars    were    buying    team    up    country    and 

then Hullo!    The  man's  gone!  "    Hordene 

had  departed  on  receipt  of  information  which  he 
already  knew.  He  only  demanded  extra  confirma- 
tion. Then  he  began  to  argue  with  himself,  bear- 
ing in  mind  that  he  himself  was  a  sane  man, 
neither  gluttonous  nor  a  wine-bibber,  with  an 
unimpaired  digestion,  and  that  Thurinda  was 
to  all  appearance  a  horse  of  ordinary  flesh  and 
exceedingly  good  blood.  Arrived  at  these 
satisfactory  conclusions,  he  reargued  the  whole 
matter. 

Being  by  nature  intensely  superstitious,  he 
decided  upon  scratching  Thurinda  and  facing  the 
howl  of  indignation  that  would  follow.  He  also 
decided  to  leave  the  Ghoriah  meet  and  change  his 
luck.  But  it  would  have  been  sinful — ^positively 
wicked — to  have  left  without  waiting  for  the  polo- 
match  that  was  to  conclude  the  festivities.  At 
the  last  moment  before  the  match,  one  of  the 


140  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

leading  players  of  the  Ghoriah  team  and  Hor- 
dene's  host  discovered  that,  through  the  kindly- 
foresight  of  his  head  sais,  every  single  pony  had 
,  been  taken  down  to  the  ground.  '  *  Lend  me  a 
hack,  old  man, ' '  he  shouted  to  Hordene  as  he  was 
changing.  '^  Take  Thurinda/'  was  the  reply. 
**  She'll  bring  you  down  in  ten  minutes.''  And 
TJiurinda  was  accordingly  saddled  for  Marish's 
benefit.  **  I'll  go  down  with  you,"  said  Hordene. 
The  two  rode  off  together  at  a  hand  canter.  *  *  By 
Jove!  Somebody's  sais  '11  get  kicked  for  this!  " 
said  Marish,  looking  round.  **  Look  there!  He's 
coming  for  the  mare !  Pull  out  into  the  middle  of 
the  road."  ^' What  on  earth  d'you  mean?" 
'  ^  Well,  if  you  can  take  a  strayed  horse  so  calmly, 
I  can't.  Didn't  you  see  what  a  lather  that  grey 
was  in  ?  "  "  What  grey  ?  "  ''  The  grey  that  just 
passed  us^saddle  and  all.  He's  got  away  from 
the  ground,  I  suppose.  Now  he's  turned  the  cor- 
ner ;  but  you  can  hear  his  hoofs.  Listen !  ' '  There 
was  a  furious  gallop  of  shod  horses,  gradually 
dying  into  silence.  '  *  Come  along, ' '  said  Hordene. 
<<  We're  late  as  it  is.  We  shall  know  all  about  it 
on  the  ground."  **  Anybody  lost  a  tat  I  "  asked 
Marish  cheerily  as  they  reached  the  ground.   * '  No, 


^^  SLEIPNER,''  LATE  ^^THURINDA  "     141 

weVe  lost  you.  Double  up.  You're  late  enough 
as  it  is.  Get  up  and  go  in.  The  teams  are  wait- 
ing. ' '  Marish  mounted  his  polo-pony  and  cantered 
across.  Hordene  watched  the  game  idly  for  a  few 
moments.  There  was  a  scrimmage,  a  cloud  of 
dust,  and  a  cessation  of  play,  and  a  shouting  for 
saises.  The  umpire  clattered  forward  and  re- 
turned. *^  What  has  happened?''  **  Marish! 
Neck  broken!  Nobody's  fault.  Pony  crossed  its 
legs  and  came  down.  Game's  stopped.  Thank 
God,  he  hasn't  got  a  wife!  "  Again  Hordene 
pondered  as  he  sat  on  his  horse's  back.  **  Under 
any  circumstances  it  was  written  that  he  was  to  be 
killed.  I  had  no  interest  in  his  death,  and  he  had 
his  warning,  I  suppose.  I  can't  make  out  the  sys- 
tem that  this  infernal  mare  runs  under.  Why 
him?  Anyway,  I'll  shoot  her."  He  looked  at 
Thurinda,  the  calm-eyed,  the  beautiful,  and  re- 
pented.   ^  ^  No !    I  '11  sell  her. ' ' 

**  What  in  the  world  has  happened  to  Thurinda 
that  Hordene  is  so  keen  on  getting  rid  of  her?  " 
was  the  general  question.  **  I  want  money,"  said 
Hordene  unblushingly,  and  the  few  who  knew  how 
his  accounts  stood  ^aw  that  this  was  a  varnished 
lie.    But  they  held  their  peace  because  of  the 


142  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

great  love  and  trust  that  exists  among  the  ancient 
and  honourable  fraternity  of  sportsmen. 

**  There's  nothing  wrong  with  her,"  explained 
Hordene.  '*  Try  her  as  much  as  you  like,  but  let 
her  stay  in  my  stable  until  youVe  made  up  your 
mind  one  way  or  the  other.  Nine  hundred's  my 
price." 

**  I'll  take  her  at  that,"  quoth  a  red-haired 
subaltern,  nicknamed  Carrots,  later  Gaja,  and  then 
for  brevity's  sake,  Guj.  **  Let  me  have  her  out 
this  afternoon.  I  want  her  more  for  hacking  than 
anything  else." 

Guj  tried  Thurinda  exhaustively  and  had  no 
fault  to  find  with  her.  **  She's  all  right,"  he  said 
briefly.  *'  I'll  take  her.  It's  a  cash  deal." 
*  *  Virtuous  Guj !  ' '  said  Hordene,  pocketing  the 
cheque.  **  If  you  go  on  like  this  you'll  be  loved 
and  respected  by  all  who  know  you." 

A  week  later  Guj  insisted  that  Hordene  should 
accompany  him  on  a  ride.  They  cantered  mer- 
rily for  a  time.  Then  said  the  subaltern :  **  Listen 
to  the  mare's  beat  a  minute,  will  you?  Seems  to 
me  that  you've  sold  me  two  horses." 

Behind  the  mare  was  plainly  audible  the  cadence 
of  a  swiftly  trotting  horse.    *'  D'you  hear  any- 


**SLEIPNEE/'  LATJ]  '^THURINDA"     143 

thing?  ' '  said  Guj.  *  *  No—nothing  but  the  regular 
triplet/'  said  Hordene;  and  he  lied  when  he 
answered.  Guj  looked  at  him  keenly  and  said 
nothing.  Two  or  three  months  passed  and  Hor- 
dene  was  perplexed  to  see  his  old  property  run- 
ning, and  running  well,  under  the  curious  title  of 
'^  Sleipner — late  Thurinda/^  He  consulted  the 
Great  Major,  who  said:  **  I  don't  know  a  horse 
called  Sleipner,  but  I  know  of  one.  He  was  a 
northern  bred,  and  belonged  to  Odin."  **  A 
mythological  beast?  "  v  f  ^  Exactly.  Like  Buceph- 
alus and  the  rest  of  'eni>^  He  was  a  great  horse. 
I  wish  I  had  some  of  his  get  in  my  stable." 
<<  Why?  "  **  Because  he  had  eight  legs.  When 
he  had  used  up  one  set,  he  let  down  the  other 
four  to  come  up  the  straight  on.  Stewards  were 
lenient  in  those  days.  Now  it's  all  you  can  do  to 
get  a  crock  with  three  sound  legs." 

Hordene  cursed  the  red-haired  Guj  in  his  heart 
for  finding  out  the  mare's  peculiarity.  Then  he 
cursed  the  dead  man  Jale  for  his  ridiculous  inter- 
ference with  a  free  gift.  **  If  it  was  given — it 
was  given,"  said  Hordene,  **  and  he  has  no  right 
to  come  messing  about  after  it."  When  Guj  and 
he  next  mef,  he  enquired  tenderly  after  Thurinda. 


144  ABAFT    THE   FUNNEL 

The  red-haired  subaltern,  impassive  as  usual,  an- 
swered: *'  IVe  shot  her."  "  Well — you  know 
your  own  affairs  best,"  said  Hordene.  **  YouVe 
given  yourself  away,"  said  Guj.  **  What  makes 
you  think  I  shot  a  sound  horse?  She  might  have 
been  bitten  by  a  mad  dog,  or  lamed."  *'  You 
didn't  say  that."  **  No,  I  didn't,  because  IVe  a 
notion  that  you  knew  what  was  wrong  with  her." 
**  Wrong  with  her!  She  was  as  sound  as  a  bell 
— — "  **  I  know  that.  Don't  pretend  to  mis- 
understand. You'll  believe  me,  and  I'll  believe 
yon  in  this  show;  but  no  one  else  will  believe  us. 
That  mare  was  a  bally  nightmare."  **  Go  on," 
said  Hordene.  '*  I  stuck  the  noise  of  the  other 
horse  as  long  as  I  could,  and  called  her  Sleipner 
on  the  strength  of  it.  Sleipner  was  a  stallion,  but 
that's  a  detail.  When  it  got  to  interfering  with 
every  race  I  rode  it  was  more  than  I  could  stick. 
I  took  her  off  racing,  and,  on  my  honour,  since  that 
time  I've  been  nearly  driven  out  of  my  mind  by 
a  grey  and  nutmeg  pony.  It  used  to  trot  round 
my  quarters  at  night,  fool  about  the  Mall,  and 
graze  about  the  compound.  You  know  that  pony. 
It  isn't  a  pony  to  catch  or  ride  or  hit,  is  it?  " 
''  No,"  said  Hordene;  "  I've  seen  it."    ''  So  I 


^^SLEIPNER,"  LATE  '^THURINDA''     145 

shot  Thurinda;  that  was  a  thousand  rupees  out  of 
my  pocket.  And  old  Stiffer,  who's  got  his  new 
crematorium  in  full  blast,  cremated  her.  I  say, 
what  was  the  matter  with  the  mare?  Was  she  be- 
witched? '' 

Hordene  told  the  story  of  the  gift,  which  Guj 
heard  out  to  the  end.  '*  Now,  that's  a  nice  sort 
of  yam  to  tell  in  a  messroom,  isn't  it?  They'd 
call  it  jumps  or  insanity, "  said  Guj.  *  *  There's  no 
reason  in  it.  It  doesn't  lead  up  to  anything.  It 
only  killed  poor  Marish  and  made  you  stick  me 
with  the  mare;  and  yet  it's  true.  Are  you  mad  or 
drunk,  or  am  I?  That's  the  only  explanation." 
**  Can't  be  drunk  for  nine  months  on  end,  and 
madness  would  show  in  that  time,"  said  Hordene. 

**  All  right,"  said  Guj  recklessly,  going  to  the 
window.  **  I'll  lay  that  ghost."  He  leaned  out 
into  the  night  and  shouted:  **  Jale!  Jale!  Jale! 
Wherever  you  are."  There  was  a  pause  and  then 
up  the  compound-drive  came  the  clatter  of  a 
horse's  feet.  The  red-haired  subaltern  blanched 
under  his  freckles  to  the  colour  of  glycerine  soap. 
''  Thurinda' s  dead,"  he  muttered,  **  and — and  all 
bets  are  off.    Go  back  to  your  grave  again." 

Hordene  was  watching  him  open-mouthed. 


146  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

"  Now  bring  me  a  strait- jacket  or  a  glass  of 
brandy/*  said  Gnj.  ''  That's  enongli  to  turn  a 
man's  hair  white.  What  did  the  poor  wretch 
mean  by  knocking  about  the  earth?  " 

**  Don't  know,"  whispered  Hordene  hoarsely. 
**  Let's  get  over  to  the  Club.  I'm  feeling  a  bit 
shaky." 


A   SUPPLEMENTAKY    CHAPTER 

Shall  I  not  one  day  remember  thy  Bower — 
One  day  when  all  days  are  one  day  to  me? 

Thinking  I  stirred  not  and  yet  had  the  power. 
Yearning — ah,  God,  if  again  it  might  be! 

— The  Song  of  the  Bower. 

npHIS  is  a  base  betrayal  of  confidence,  but  the 
-'•      sin  is  Mrs.  Hanksbee's  and  not  mine. 

If  you  remember  a  certain  foolish  tale  called 
**  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere,"  you  will  not  for- 
get that  Mrs.  Mallowe  laughed  at  the  wrong  time, 
which  was  a  single,  and  at  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  which 
was  a  double,  offence.  An  experiment  had  gone 
wrong,  and  it  seems  that  Mrs.  Mallowe  had  said 
some  quaint  things  about  the  experimentrix. 

**  I  am  not  angry,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  *'  and 
I  admire  Polly  in  spite  of  her  evil  counsels  to  me. 
But  I  shall  wait — I  shall  wait,  like  the  frog  foot- 
man in  Alice  in  Wonderland,  and  Providence  will 
deliver  Polly  into  my  hands.  It  always  does  if 
you  wait."  And  she  departed  to  vex  the  soul 
of  the  *^  Hawley  boy,"  who  says  that  she  is  sin- 

147 


148  ABAFT   THE   FUNNEL 

gularly  *^  uninstruite  and  childlike."  He  got  that 
first  word  out  of  a  Ouida  novel.  I  do  not  know 
what  it  means,  but  am  prepared  to  make  an  affi- 
davit before  the  Collector  that  it  does  not  mean 
Mrs.  Hauksbee. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee 's  ideas  of  waiting  are  very- 
liberal.  She  told  the  **  Hawley  boy  "  that  he 
dared  not  tell  Mrs.  Reiver  that  ''  she  was  an  in- 
tellectual woman  with  a  gift  for  attracting  men," 
and  she  offered  another  man  two  waltzes  if  he 
would  repeat  the  same  thing  in  the  same  ears. 
But  he  said:  ^'  Timeo  Danaos  et  dona  ferentes," 
which  means  *^  Mistrust  all  waltzes  except  those 
you  get  for  legitimate  asking." 

The  *  *  Hawley  boy  ' '  did  as  he  was  told  because 
he  believes  in  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  He  was  the  instru- 
ment in  the  hand  of  a  Higher  Power,  and  he  wore 
jharun  coats,  like  ^*  the  scoriae  rivers  that  roll 
their  sulphurous  torrents  down  Yahek,  in  the 
realms  of  the  Boreal  Pole,"  that  made  your  tem- 
ples throb  when  seen  early  in  the  morning.  I  will 
introduce  him  to  you  some  day  if  all  goes  well. 
He  is  worth  knowing. 

Unpleasant  things  have  already  been  written 
about  Mrs.  Eeiver  in  other  places. 


SUPPLEMENTARY    CHAPTER       149 

She  was  a  person  without  invention.  She  used 
to  get  her  ideas  from  the  men  she  captured,  and 
this  led  to  some  eccentric  changes  of  character. 
For  a  month  or  two  she  would  act  a  la  Madonna, 
and  try  Theo  for  a  change  if  she  fancied  Theo's 
ways  suited  her  beauty.  Then  she  would  attempt 
the  dark  and  fiery  Lilith,  and  so  and  so  on,  exactly 
as  she  had  absorbed  the  new  notion.  But  there 
was  always  Mrs.  Reiver — ^hard,  selfish,  stupid  Mrs. 
Reiver — at  the  back  of  each  transformation.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  christened  her  the  Magic  Lantern  on 
account  of  this  borrowed  mutability.  ''  It  just 
depends  upon  the  slide,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 
**  The  case  is  the  only  permanent  thing  in  the 
exhibition.  But  that,  thank  Heaven,  is  getting 
old." 

There  was  a  Fancy  Ball  at  Grovernment  House 
and  Mrs.  Reiver  came  attired  in  some  sort  of  '98 
costume,  with  her  hair  pulled  up  to  the  top  of  her 
head,  showing  the  clear  outline  on  the  back  of  the 
neck  like  the  Recamier  engravings.  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee had  chosen  to  be  loud,  not  to  say  vulgar,  that 
evening,  and  went  as  The  Black  Death — a  curious 
arrangement  of  barred  velvet,  black  domino  and 
flame-coloured  satin  puffery  coming  up  to  the  neck 


150  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

and  the  wrists,  with  one  of  those  shrieking  keel- 
backed  cicalas  in  the  hair.  The  scream  of  the 
creature  made  people  jump.  It  sounded  so  un- 
earthly in  a  ballroom. 

I  heard  her  say  to  some  one :  "  Let  me  introduce 
you  to  Madame  Recamier/'  and  I  saw  a  man 
dressed  as  Autolycus  bowing  to  Mrs.  Eeiver,  while 
The  Black  Death  looked  more  than  usually  saintly. 
It  was  a  very  pleasant  evening,  and  Autolycus 
and  Madame  Recamier — I  heard  her  ask  Autolycus 
who  Madame  Recamier  was,  by  the  way — danced 
together  ever  so  much.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  in  a 
meditative  mood,  but  she  laughed  once  or  twice  in 
the  back  of  her  throat,  and  that  meant  trouble. 

Autolycus  was  Trewinnard,  the  man  whom  Mrs. 
Mallowe  had  told  Mrs.  Hauksbee  about — the 
Platonic  Paragon,  as  Mrs.  Hauksbee  called  him. 
He  was  amiable,  but  his  moustache  hid  his  mouth, 
and  so  he  did  not  explain  himself  all  at  once.  If 
you  stared  at  him,  he  turned  his  eyes  away,  and 
through  the  rest  of  the  dinner  kept  looking  at  you 
to  see  whether  you  were  looking  again.  He  took 
stares  as  a  tribute  to  his  merits,  which  were  gen- 
erally known  and  recognized.  When  he  played 
billiards  he  apologized  at  length  between  each  bad 


SUPPLEMENTARY    CHAPTER         151 

stroke,  and  explained  what  would  have  happened 
if  the  red  had  been  somewhere  else,  or  the  bearer 
had  trimmed  the  third  lamp,  or  the  wind  hadn't 
made  the  door  bang.  Also  he  wriggled  in  his  chair 
more  than  was  becoming  to  one  of  his  inches.  Lit- 
tle men  may  wriggle  and  fidget  without  attracting 
notice.  It  doesn't  suit  big- framed  men.  He  was 
the  Main  Girder  Boom  of  the  Kutcha,  Pukka, 
Bundobust  and  Benaoti  Department  and  corre- 
'sponded  direct  with  the  Three  Taped  Bashaw. 
Every  one  knows  what  that  means.  The  men  in 
his  own  office  said  that  where  anything  was  to 
be  gained,  even  temporarily,  he  would  never  hesi- 
tate for  a  moment  over  handing  up  a  subordinate 
to  be  hanged  and  drawn  and  quartered.  He  didn't 
back  up  his  underlings,  and  for  that  reason 
they  dreaded  taking  responsibility  on  their  shoul- 
ders, and  the  strength  of  the  Department  was 
crippled. 

A  weak  Department  can,  and  often  does,  do 
a  power  of  good  work  simply  because  its  chief  sees 
it  through  thick  and  thin.  Mistakes  may  be  born 
of  this  policy,  but  it  is  safer  and  sounder  than 
giving  orders  which  may  be  read  in  two  ways  and 
reserving  to  yourself  the  right  of  interpretation 


152  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

according  to  subsequent  failure  or  success.  Offices 
prefer  administration  to  diplomacy.  They  are 
very  like  Empires. 

Hatchett  of  the  Almirah  and  Thannicutch — a 
vicious  little  three-cornered  Department  that  was 
always  stamping  on  the  toes  of  the  Elect — ^had  the 
fairest  estimate  of  Trewinnard,  when  he  said:  **  I 
don 't  believe  he  is  as  good  as  he  is. ' '  They  always 
quoted  that  verdict  as  an  instance  of  the  blind 
jealousy  of  the  Uncovenanted,  but  Hatchett  was 
quite  right.  Trewinnard  was  just  as  good  and  no 
better  than  Mrs.  Mallowe  could  make  him;  and 
she  had  been  engaged  on  the  work  for  three  years. 
Hatchett  has  a  narrow-minded  partiality  for  the 
more  than  naked — the  anatomised  Truth^ — but  he 
can  gauge  a  man. 

Trewinnard  had  been  spoilt  by  over-much  pet- 
ting, and  the  devil  of  vanity  that  rides  nine 
hundred  and  ninety-nine  men  out  of  a  thousand 
made  him  believe  as  he  did.  He  had  been  too  long 
one  woman's  property;  and  that  belief  will  some- 
times drive  a  man  to  throw  the  best  things  in 
the  world  behind  him,  from  rank  perversity.  Per- 
haps he  only  meant  to  stray  temporarily  and  then 
return,  but  in  arranging  for  this  excursion  he  mis- 


SUPPLEMENTARY    CHAPTER       153 

understood  both  Mrs.  Mallowe  and  Mrs.  Reiver. 
The  one  made  no  sign,  she  would  have  died  first; 
and  the  other — well,  the  high-falutin  mindsome 
lay  was  her  craze  for  the  time  being.  She  had 
never  tried  it  before  and  several  men  had  hinted 
that  it  would  eminently  become  her.  Trewinnard 
was  in  himself  pleasant,  with  the  great  merit  of  be- 
longing to  somebody  else.  He  was  what  they  call 
**  intellectual,"  and  vain  to  the  marrow.  Mrs. 
Reiver  returned  his  lead  in  the  first,  and  hopeless- 
ly out- trumped  him  in  the  second  suit.  Put  down 
all  that  comes  after  this  to  Providence  or  The 
Black  Death. 

Trewinnard  never  realised  how  far  he  had  fallen 
from  his  allegiance  till  Mrs.  Reiver  referred  to 
some  official  matter  that  he  had  been  telling  her 
about  as  ^*  ours."  He  remembered  then  how  that 
word  had  been  sacred  to  Mrs.  Mallowe  and  how 
she  had  asked  his  permission  to  use  it.  Opium 
is  intoxicating,  and  so  is  whisky,  but  more  intoxi- 
cating than  either  to  a  certain  build  of  mind  is  the 
first  occasion  on  which  a  woman — especially  if  she 
have  asked  leave  for  the  *  *  honour  ' ' — ^identifies  her- 
self with  a  man's  work.  The  second  time  is  not  so 
pleasant.    The  answer  has  been  given  before,  and 


154  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

the  treachery  comes  to  the  top  and  tastes  coppery 
in  the  mouth. 

Trewinnard  swallowed  the  shame — he  felt  dimly 
that  he  was  not  doing  Mrs.  Eeiver  any  great  wrong 
by  untruth — and  told  and  told  and  continued  to 
tell,  for  the  snare  of  this  form  of  open-heartedness 
is  that  no  man,  unless  he  be  a  consummate  liar, 
knows  where  to  stop.  The  office  door  of  all  others 
must  be  either  open  wide  or  shut  tight  with  a 
shaprassi  to  keep  off  callers. 

Mrs.  Mallowe  made  no  sign  to  show  that  she  felt 
Trewinnard 's  desertion  till  a  piece  of  information 
that  could  only  have  come  from  one  quarter  ran 
about  Simla  like  quicksilver.  She  met  Trewin- 
nard at  a  dinner.  * '  Choose  your  confidantes  bet- 
ter, Harold, ' '  she  whispered  as  she  passed  him  in 
the  drawing-room.  He  turned  salmon-colour,  and 
swore  very  hard  to  himself  that  Babu  Durga 
Charan  Laha  must  go — must  go — must  go.  He 
almost  believed  in  that  grey-headed  old  oyster's 
guilt. 

And  so  another  of  those  upside-down  tragedies 
that  we  call  a  Simla  Season  wore  through  to  the 
end — from  the  Birthday  Ball  to  the  '*  tripping  '' 
to  Naldera  and  Kotghar.    And  fools  gave  feasts 


SUPPLEMENTAEY   CHAPTER         155 

and  wise  men  ate  them,  and  they  were  bidden  to 
the  wedding  and  sat  down  to  bake,  and  those  who 
had  nuts  had  no  teeth  and  they  staked  the  sub- 
stance for  the  shadow,  and  carried  coals  to  New- 
castle, and  in  the  dark  all  cats  were  grey,  as  it 
was  in  the  days  of  the  great  Cure  of  Meudon. 

Late  in  the  year  there  developed  itself  a  battle- 
royal  between  the  K.P.B.  and  B.  Department  and 
the  Almirah  and  Thannicutch.  Three  columns  of 
this  paper  would  be  needed  to  supply  you  with 
the  outlines  of  the  difficulty;  and  then  you  would 
not  be  grateful.  Hatchett  snuffed  the  fray  from 
afar  and  went  into  it  with  his  teeth  bared  to  the 
gums,  while  his  Department  stood  behind  him  solid 
to  a  man.  They  believed  in  him,  and  their  answer 
to  the  fury  of  men  who  detested  him  was :  *  *  All ! 
But  you'll  admit  he's  d — d  right  in  what  he  says." 

**  The  head  of  Trewinnard  in  a  Government 
Resolution,"  said  Hatchett,  and  he  told  the  daftri 
to  put  a  new  pad  on  his  blotter,  and  smiled  a  bleak 
smile  as  he  spread  out  his  notes.  Hatchett  is  a 
Thug  in  his  systematic  way  of  butchering  a  man's 
reputation. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  asked  Trewin- 
nard's  Department.    **  Sit  tight,"  said  Trewin- 


156  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

nard,  which  was  tantamount  to  saying  ^*  Lord 
knows."  The  Department  groaned  and  said: 
^  ^  Which  of  us  poor  beggars  is  to  be  Jonahed  this 
time?  ''    They  knew  Trewinnard's  vice. 

The  dispute  was  essentially  not  one  for  the 
K.P.B.  and  B.  under  its  then  direction  to  fight 
out.  It  should  have  been  compromised,  or  at  the 
worst  sent  up  to  the  Supreme  Government  with  a 
private  and  confidential  note  directing  justice  into 
the  proper  paths. 

Some  people  say  that  the  Supreme  Government 
is  the  Devil.  It  is  more  like  the  Deep  Sea.  Any- 
thing that  you  throw  into  it  disappears  for  weeks, 
and  comes  to  light  hacked  and  furred  at  the  edges, 
crusted  with  weeds  and  shells  and  almost  un- 
recognisable. The  bold  man  who  would  dare  to 
give  it  a  file  of  love-letters  would  be  amply  re- 
warded. It  would  overlay  them  with  original  com- 
ments and  marginal  notes,  and  work  them  piece- 
meal into  D.  0.  dockets.  Few  things,  from  a  let- 
ter or  a  whirlpool  to  a  sausage-machine  or  a  hatch- 
ing hen,  are  more  interesting  and  peculiar  than 
the  Supreme  Government. 

*^  What  shall  we  do?  "  said  Trewinnard,  who 
had  fallen  from  grace  into  sin.    **  Fight,"  said 


SUPPLEMENTAEY   CHAPTER       157 

Mrs.  Reiver,  or  words  to  that  effect;  and  no  one 
can  say  how  far  aimless  desire  to  test  her  powers, 
and  how  far  belief  in  the  man  she  had  brought  to 
her  feet  prompted  the  judgment.  Of  the  merits  of 
the  case  she  knew  just  as  much  as  any  ayah. 

Then  Mrs.  Mallowe,  upon  an  evil  word  that  went 
through  Simla,  put  on  her  visiting-garb  and  at- 
tired herself  for  the  sacrifice,  and  went  to  call- 
to  call  upon  Mrs.  Reiver,  knowing  what  the  torture 
would  be.  From  half-past  twelve  till  twenty-five 
minutes  to  two  she  sat,  her  hand  upon  her  card- 
ease,  and  let  Mrs.  Reiver  stab  at  her,  all  for  the 
sake  of  the  information.  Mrs.  Reiver  double- 
acted  her  part,  but  she  played  into  Mrs.  Mallowe 's 
hand  by  this  defect.  The  assumptions  of  owner- 
ship, the  little  intentional  slips,  were  overdone, 
and  so  also  was  the  pretence  of  intimate  knowl- 
edge. Mrs.  Mallowe  never  winced.  She  repeated 
to  herself :  * '  And  he  has  trusted  this — this  Thing. 
She  knows  nothing  and  she  cares  nothing,  and 
she  has  digged  this  trap  for  him.''  The  main 
feature  of  the  case  was  abundantly  clear.  Tre- 
winnard,  whose  capacities  Mrs.  Mallowe  knew  to 
the  utmost  farthing,  to  whom  public  and  depart- 
mental petting  were  as  the  breath  of  his  delicately- 


158  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

cut  nostrils — Trewinnard,  with  his  nervous  dread 
of  dispraise,  was  to  be  pitted  against  the  Paul  de 
Cassagnac  of  the  Almirah  and  Thannicutch — the 
unspeakable  Hatchett,  who  fought  with  the  venom 
of  a  woman  and  the  skill  of  a  Eed  Indian.  Unless 
his  cause  was  triply  just,  Trewinnard  was  already 
under  the  guillotine,  and  if  he  had  been  under  this 
''  Thing's  "  dominance,  small  hope  for  the  justice 
of  his  case.  **  Oh,  why  did  I  let  him  go  without 
putting  out  a  hand  to  fetch  him  back?  "  said  Mrs. 
Mallowe,  as  she  got  into  her  'rickshaw. 

Now,  Tim,  her  fox-terrier,  is  the  only  person 
who  knows  what  Mrs.  Mallowe  did  that  afternoon, 
and  as  I  found  him  loafing  on  the  Mall  in  a  very 
disconsolate  condition  and  as  he  recognised  me 
effusively  and  suggested  going  for  a  monkey-hunt 
— a  thing  he  had  never  done  before — ^my  impres- 
sion is  that  Mrs.  Mallowe  stayed  at  home  till  the 
light  fell  and  thought.  If  she  did  this,  it  is  of 
course  hopeless  to  account  for  her  actions.  So 
you  must  fill  in  the  gap  for  yourself. 

That  evening  it  rained  heavily,  and  horses  mired 
their  riders.  But  not  one  of  all  the  habits  was  so 
plastered  with  mud  as  the  habit  of  Mrs.  Mallowe 
when  she  pulled  up  under  the  scrub  oaks  and  sent 


SUPPLEMENTARY    CHAPTER       159 

in  her  name  by  tlie  astounded  bearer  to  Trewin- 
nard.  *  *  Folly !  downright  folly !  ' '  she  said  as  she 
sat  in  the  steam  of  the  dripping  horse.  ^*  But  it's 
all  a  horrible  jumble  together/' 

It  may  be  as  well  to  mention  that  ladies  do  not 
usually  call  upon  bachelors  at  their  houses. 
Bachelors  would  scream  and  run  away.  Trewin- 
nard  came  into  the  light  of  the  verandah  with  a 
nervous,  undecided  smile  upon  his  lips,  and  he 
wished — in  the  bottomless  bottom  of  his  bad  heart 
— he  wished  that  Mrs.  Reiver  was  there  to  see. 
A  minute  later  he  was  profoundly  glad  that  he  was 
alone,  for  Mrs.  Mallowe  was  standing  in  his  office 
room  and  calling  him  names  that  reflected  no  credit 
on  his  intellect.  **  What  have  you  done?  What 
have  you  said?"  she  asked.  **  Be  quick!  Be 
quick!  And  have  the  horse  led  round  to  the  back. 
Can  you  speak?  What  have  you  written?  Show 
me!" 

She  had  interrupted  him  in  the  middle  of  what 
he  was  pleased  to  call  his  reply;  for  Hatchett's 
first  shell  had  already  fallen  in  the  camp.  He  stood 
back  and  offered  her  the  seat  at  the  duftar  table. 
Her  elbow  left  a  great  wet  stain  on  the  baize,  for 
she  was  soaked  through  and  through. 


160  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

^^  Say  exactly  how  the  matter  stands,"  she  said, 
and  laughed  a  weak  little  laugh,  which  emboldened 
Trewinnard  to  say  loftily : ' '  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe,  but  I  hardly  recognise  your '* 

**  Idiot!  "Will  you  show  me  the  papers,  will 
you  speak,  and  will  you  be  quick?  '' 

Her  most  reverent  admirers  would  hardly  have 
recognised  the  soft-spoken,  slow-gestured,  quiet- 
eyed  Mrs.  Mallowe  in  the  indignant  woman  who 
was  drumming  on  Trewinnard 's  desk.  He  sub- 
mitted to  the  voice  of  authority,  as  he  had  sub- 
mitted in  the  old  times,  and  explained  as  quickly 
as  might  be  the  cause  of  the  war  between  the  two 
Departments.  In  conclusion  he  handed  over  the 
rough  sheets  of  his  reply.  As  she  read  he  watched 
her  with  the  expectant  sickly  half-smile  of  the 
unaccustomed  writer  who  is  doubtful  of  the  success 
of  his  work.  And  another  smile  followed,  but  died 
away  as  he  saw  Mrs.  Mallowe  read  his  production. 
All  the  old  phrases  out  of  which  she  had  so  care- 
fully drilled  him  had  returned;  the  tmpruned 
fluency  of  diction  was  there,  the  more  luxuriant  for 
being  so  long  cut  back ;  the  reckless  riotousness  of 
assertion  that  sacrificed  all — even  the  vital  truth 
that  Hatchett  would  be  so  sure  to  take  advantage  of 


SUPPLEMENTAEY   CHAPTER       161 

— for  the  sake  of  scoring  a  point,  was  there;  and 
through  and  between  every  line  ran  the  weak,  wil- 
ful vanity,  of  the  man.  Mrs.  Mallowe's  mouth 
hardened. 

*  *  And  you  wrote  this !  "  she  said.  Then  to  her- 
self :''  He  wrote  this !  ' ' 

Trewinnard  stepped  forward  with  a  gesture 
habitual  to  him  when  he  wished  to  explain.  Mrs. 
Eeiver  had  never  asked  for  explanations.  She 
had  told  him  that  all  his  ways  were  perfect.  There- 
fore he  loved  her. 

Mrs.  Mallowe  tore  up  the  papers  one  by  one, 
saying  as  she  did  so:  *'  You  were  going  to  cross 
swords  with  Hatchett.  Do  you  know  your  own 
strength?    Oh,  Harold,  Harold,  it  is  too  pitiable! 

I  thought — I  thought '^    Then  the  great  anger 

that  had  been  growing  in  her  broke  out,  and  she 
cried:  ''  Oh,  you  fool!  You  blind,  blind,  blind, 
trumpery  fool!  Why  do  I  help  you?  Why  do  I 
have  anything  to  do  with  you?  You  miserable 
man !  Sit  down  and  write  as  I  dictate.  Quickly  I 
And  I  had  chosen  you  out  of  a  hundred  other  men! 
Write  I  ' '  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  be  found  out  by  a 
mere  unseeing  male — Thackeray  has  said  it.  It  is 
worse,  far  worse,  to  be  found  out  by  a  woman,  and 


162  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

in  tliat  hour  after  long  years  to  discover  her  worth. 
For  ten  minutes  Trewinnard's  pen  scratched 
across  the  paper,  and  Mrs.  Mallowe  spoke.  ^  ^  And 
that  is  all,"  she  said  bitterly.  **  As  you  value 
yourself — your  noble,  honourable,  modest  self — 
keep  within  that." 

But  that  was  not  all — ^by  any  means;  At  least 
as  far  as  Trewinnard  was  concerned. 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  delivered  his  soul  of 
many  mad  and  futile  thoughts — such  things  as  a 
man  babbles  when  he  is  deserted  of  the  gods,  has 
missed  his  hold  upon  the  latch-door  of  Opportunity 
— and  cannot  see  that  the  ways  are  shut.  Mrs. 
Mallowe  bore  with  him  to  the  end,  and  he  stood 
before  her — no  enviable  creature  to  look  upon. 

*^  A  cur  as  well  as  a  fool!  "  she  said.  *'  Will 
you  be  good  enough  to  tell  them  to  bring  my  horse ! 
I  do  not  trust  to  your  honour — ^you  have  none — 
but  I  believe  that  your  sense  of  shame  will  keep 
you  from  speaking  of  my  visit." 

So  he  was  left  in  the  verandah  crying  *'  Come 
back  "  like  a  distracted  guinea-fowl. 

*  *  *  *  *  # 

'*  He's  done  us  in  the  eye,"  grunted  Hatchett 
as  he  perused  the  K.P.B.  and  B.  reply.    **  Look  at 


SUPPLEMENTARY    CHAPTER       163 

the  cunning  of  the  brute  in  shifting  the  issue  on  to 
India  in  that  carneying,  blarneying  way!  Only 
wait  until  I  can  get  my  knife  into  him  again.    I'll 

stop  every  bolt-hole  before  the  hunt  begins/' 

****** 

Oh,  I  believe  I  have  forgotten  to  mention  the 
success  of  Mrs.  Hauksbee's  revenge.  It  was  so 
brilliant  and  overwhelming  that  she  had  to  cry  in 
Mrs.  Mallowe's  arms  for  the  better  part  of  half  an 
hour;  and  Mrs.  Mallowe  was  just  as  bad,  though 
she  thanked  Mrs.  Hauksbee  several  times  in  the 
course  of  the  interview,  and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  said 
that  she  would  repent  and  reform,  and  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe said:  ^*  Hush,  dear,  hush!  I  don't  think 
either  of  us  had  anything  to  be  proud  of."  And 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  said:  *^  Oh,  but  I  didn't  mean  it, 
Polly,  I  didn't  mean  it!  "  And  I  stood  with  my 
hat  in  my  hand  trying  to  make  two  very  indignant 
ladies  understand  that  the  bearer  really  had  given 
me ''  salaam  holta." 

That  was  an  evil  quarter  minute. 


CHAUTAUQUAED 

Tells  how  the  Professor  and  I  found  the  Precious  Rediculouses 
and  how  they  Chautauquaed  at  us.  Puts  into  print,  some  senti- 
ments better  left  unrecorded,  and  proves  that  a  neglected  theory 
will  blossom  in  congenial  soil.  Contains  fragments  of  three 
lectures  and  a  confession. 

"But  these,  in  spite  of  careful  dirt, 

Are  neither  green  nor  sappy; 
Half   conscious   of   the   garden  squirt, 
The  Spendlings  look  unhappy." 

^^UT  of  the  silence  under  the  apple-trees  the 
^^  Professor  spake.  One  leg  thrust  from  the 
hammock  netting  kicked  lazily  at  the  blue.  There 
was  the  crisp  crunch  of  teeth  in  an  apple  core. 

^'  Get  out  of  this/^  said  the  Professor  lazily. 
As  it  was  on  the  banks  of  the  Hughli,  so  on  the 
green  borders  of  the  Musquash  and  the  Ohio — 
eternal  unrest,  and  the  insensate  desire  to  go 
ahead.  I  was  lapped  in  a  very  trance  of  peace. 
Even  the  apples  brought  no  indigestion. 

'*  Permanent  Nuisance,  what  is  the  matter 
now?  ''  I  grunted. 

**  G'long  out  of  this  and  go  to  Niagara,"  said 

164 


CHAUTAUQUAED  165 

the  Professor  in  jerks.  ''  Spread  the  ink  of  de- 
scription through  the  waters  of  the  Horseshoe  falls 
— ^buy  a  papoose  from  the  tame  wild  Indian  who 
lives  at  the  Clifton  Honse — take  a  fifty-cent  ride 
on  the  Maid  of  the  Mist — go  over  the  falls  in  a 
tub." 

**  Seriously,  is  it  worth  the  trouble?  Every- 
body who  has  ever  been  within  fifty  miles  of  the 
falls  has  written  his  or  her  impressions.  Every- 
body who  has  never  seen  the  falls  knows  all  about 
them,  and — besides,  I  want  some  more  apples. 
They're  good  in  this  place,  ye  big  fat  man,"  I 
quoted. 

The  Professor  retired  into  his  hammock  for  a 
while.  Then  he  reappeared  flushed  with  a  new 
thought.  **  If  you  want  to  see  something  quite 
new  let's  go  to  Chautauqua." 

^^  What's  that?  " 

**  Well,  it's  a  sort  of  institution.  It's  an  educa- 
tional idea,  and  it  lives  on  the  borders  of  a  lake 
in  New  York  State.  I  think  you'll  find  it  interest- 
ing; and  I  know  it  will  show  you  a  new  side  of 
American  life." 

In  blank  ignorance  I  consented.  Everybody  is 
anxious  that  I  should  see  as  many  sides  of  Ameri- 


166  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

can  life  as  possible.  Here  in  the  East  they  de- 
mand of  me  what  I  thought  of  their  West.  I  dare 
not  answer  that  it  is  as  far  from  their  notions  and 
motives  as  Hindustan  from  Hoboken — that  the 
West,  to  this  poor  thinking,  is  an  America  which 
has  no  kinship  with  its  neighbour.  Therefore  I 
congratulated  them  hypocritically  upon  **  their 
West, ' '  and  from  their  lips  learn  that  there  is  yet 
another  America,  that  of  the  South — ^alien  and  dis- 
tinct. Into  the  third  country,  alas!  I  shall  not 
have  time  to  penetrate.  The  newspapers  and  the 
oratory  of  the  day  will  tell  you  that  all  feeling 
between  the  North  and  South  is  extinct.  None 
the  less  the  Northerner,  outside  his  newspapers 
and  public  men,  has  a  healthy  contempt  for  the 
Southerner  which  the  latter  repays  by  what  seems 
very  like  a  deep-rooted  aversion  to  the  Northerner. 
I  have  learned  now  what  the  sentiments  of  the  great 
American  nation  mean.  The  North  speaks  in  the 
name  of  the  country ;  the  West  is  busy  developing 
its  own  resources,  and  the  Southerner  skulks  in 
his  tents.  His  opinions  do  not  count;  but  his  girls 
are  very  beautiful. 

So  the  Professor  and  I  took  a  train  and  went 
to  look  at  the  educational  idea.      From  sleepy, 


CHAUTAUQUAED  167 

quiet  little  Musquash  we  rattled  through  the  coal 
and  iron  districts  of  Pennsylvania,  her  coke  ovens 
flaring  into  the  night  and  her  clamorous  foundries 
waking  the  silence  of  the  woods  in  which  they  lay. 
Twenty  years  hence  woods  and  cornfields  will  be 
gone,  and  from  Pittsburg  to  Shenango  all  will  be 
smoky  black  as  Bradford  and  Beverly:  for  each 
factory  is  drawing  to  itself  a  small  town,  and  year 
by  year  the  demand  for  rails  increases.  The  Pro- 
fessor held  forth  on  the  labour  question,  his  re- 
marks being  prompted  by  the  sight  of  a  train-load 
of  Italians  and  Hungarians  going  home  from 
mending  a  bridge. 

**  You  recollect  the  Burmese,"  said  he.  **  The 
American  is  like  the  Burman  in  one  way.  He 
won't  do  heavy  manual  labour.  He  knows  too  much. 
Consequently  he  imports  the  alien  to  be  his  hands 
— ^just  as  the  Burman  gets  hold  of  the  Madrassi. 
If  he  shuts  down  all  labour  immigration  he  will 
have  to  fill  up  his  own  dams,  cut  his  cuttings  and 
pile  his  own  embankments.  The  American  citizen 
won't  like  that.  He  is  racially  unfit  to  be  a 
labourer  in  muttee.  He  can  invent,  buy,  sell  and 
design,  but  he  cannot  waste  his  time  on  earth- 
works.     Iswaste,  this  great  people  will  resume 


168  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

contract  labour  immigration  the  minute  they  find 
the  aliens  in  their  midst  are  not  sufficient  for  the 
jobs  in  hand.  If  the  alien  gives  them  trouble  they 
will  shoot  him.'' 

**  Yes,  they  will  shoot  him,"  I  said,  remember- 
ing how  only  two  days  before  some  Hungarians 
employed  on  a  line  near  Musquash  had  seen  fit 
to  strike  and  to  roll  down  rocks  on  labourers  hired 
to  take  their  places,  an  amusement  which  caused 
the  sheriff  to  open  fire  with  a  revolver  and  wound 
or  kill  (it  really  does  not  much  matter  which)  two 
or  three  of  them.  Only  a  man  who  earns  ten  pence 
a  day  in  sunny  Italy  knows  how  to  howl  for  as 
many  shillings  in  America. 

The  composition  of  the  crowd  in  the  cars  began 
to  attract  my  attention.  There  were  very  many 
women  and  a  few  clergymen.  Where  you  shall 
find  these  two  together,  there  also  shall  be  a  fad,  a 
hobby,  a  theory,  or  a  mission. 

*^  These  people  are  going  to  Chautauqua,"  said 
the  Professor.  '^  It's  a  sort  of  open-air  college — 
they  call  it — ^but  you'll  understand  things  better 
when  you  arrive."  A  grim  twinkle  in  the  back  of 
his  eye  awakened  all  my  fears. 

"  Can  you  get  anything  to  drink  there?  " 


CHAUTAUQUAED  169 

**  No/' 

**  Are  you  allowed  to  smoke?  " 

**  Ye-es^  in  certain  places.'' 

*^  Are  we  staying  there  over  Sunday  I  " 

''  No.''    This  very  emphatically. 

Feminine  shrieks  of  welcome:  ^*  There's 
Sadie!  ''  ''  Why,  Maimie,  is  that  yeou!  "  ^^  Alf  s 
in  the  smoker.  Did  you  bring  the  baby?  "  and  a 
profligate  expenditure  of  kisses  between  bonnet 
and  bonnet  told  me  we  had  struck  a  gathering  place 
of  the  clans.  It  was  midnight.  They  swept  us, 
this  horde  of  clamouring  women,  into  a  Black 
Maria  omnibus  and  a  sumptuous  hotel  close  to  the 
borders  of  a  lake — ^Lake  Chautauqua.  Morning 
showed  as  pleasant  a  place  of  summer  pleasuring 
as  ever  I  wished  to  see.  Smooth-cut  lawns  of  vel- 
vet grass,  studded  with  tennis-courts,  surrounded 
the  hotel  and  ran  down  to  the  blue  waters,  which 
were  dotted  with  rowboats.  Young  men  in  won- 
derful blazers,  and  maidens  in  more  wonderful 
tennis  costumes;  women  attired  with  all  the  ex- 
travagance of  unthinking  Chicago  or  the  grace  of 
Washington  (which  is  Simla)  filled  the  grounds, 
and  the  neat  French  nurses  and  exquisitely 
dressed  little  children  ran  about  together.     There 


170  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

was  pickerel-fishing  for  such  as  enjoyed  it;  a 
bowling-alley,  unlimited  bathing  and  a  toboggan, 
besides  many  other  amusements,  all  winding  up 
with  a  dance  or  a  concert  at  night.  Women 
dominated  the  sham  mediaeval  hotel,  rampaged 
about  the  passages,  flirted  in  the  corridors  and 
chased  unruly  children  off  the  tennis-courts.  This 
place  was  called  Lakewood.  It  is  a  pleasant  place 
for  the  unregenerate. 

'^  We  go  up  the  lake  in  a  steamer  to  Chautau- 
qua," said  the  Professor. 

'*  But  I  want  to  stay  here.  This  is  what  I 
understand  and  like. ' ' 

'*  No,  you  don't.  You  must  come  along  and  be 
educated. ' ' 

All  the  shores  of  the  lake,  which  is  eighteen  miles 
long,  are  dotted  with  summer  hotels,  camps,  boat- 
houses  and  pleasant  places  of  rest.  You  go  there 
with  all  your  family  to  fish  and  to  flirt.  There  is 
no  special  beauty  in  the  landscape  of  tame  culti- 
vated hills  and  decorous,  woolly  trees,  but  good 
taste  and  wealth  have  taken  the  place  in  hand, 
trimmed  its  borders  and  made  it  altogether  de- 
lightful. 

The  institution  of  Chautauqua  is  the  largest  vil- 


CHAUTAUQUAED  171 

lage  on  the  lake.  I  can't  hope  to  give  you  an  idea 
of  it,  but  try  to  imagine  the  Charlesville  at  Mus- 
soorie  magnified  ten  times  and  set  down  in  the 
midst  of  hundreds  of  tiny  little  hill  houses,  each 
different  from  its  neighbour,  brightly  painted  and 
constructed  of  wood.  Add  something  of  the  peace 
of  dull  Dalhousie,  flavour  with  a  tincture  of  mis- 
sions and  the  old  Polytechnic,  CasselPs  Self  Edu- 
cator and  a  Monday  pop,  and  spread  the  result  out 
flat  on  the  shores  of  Naini  Taf  Lake,  which  you 
will  please  transport  to  the  Dun.  But  that  does 
not  half  describe  the  idea.  We  watched  it  through 
a  wicket  gate,  where  we  were  furnished  with  a  red 
ticket,  price  forty  cents,  and  five  dollars  if  you  lost 
it.  I  naturally  lost  mine  on  the  spot  and  was  fined 
accordingly. 

Once  inside  the  grounds  on  the  paths  that  ser- 
pentined round  the  myriad  cottages  I  was  lost  in 
admiration  of  scores  of  pretty  girls,  most  of  them 
with  little  books  under  their  arms,  and  a  pretty 
air  of  seriousness  on  their  faces.  Then  I  stumbled 
upon  an  elaborately  arranged  mass  of  artificial 
hillocks  surrounding  a  mud  puddle  and  a  wormy 
streak  of  slime  connecting  it  with  another  mud 
puddle.    Little  boulders  topped  with  square  pieces 


172  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

of  putty  were  strewn  over  the  hillocks — evidently 
with  intention.  When  I  hit  my  foot  against  one 
such  boulder  painted  ^*  Jericho,''  I  demanded  in- 
formation in  aggrieved  tones. 

**  Hsh!  "  said  the  Professor.  '*  It's  a  model  of 
Palestine — the  Holy  Land — done  to  scale  and  all 
that,  you  know." 

Two  young  people  were  flirting  on  the  top  of 
the  highest  mountain  overlooking  Jerusalem;  the 
mud  puddles  were  meant  for  the  Dead  Sea  and  the 
Sea  of  Galilee,  and  the  twisting  gutter  was  the 
Jordan.  A  small  boy  sat  on  the  city ' '  Saf  ed  ' '  and 
cast  his  line  into  Chautauqua  Lake.  On  the  whole 
it  did  not  impress  me.  The  hotel  was  filled  with 
women,  and  a  large  blackboard  in  the  main  hall  set 
forth  the  exercises  of  the  day.  It  seemed  that 
Chautauqua  was  a  sort  of  educational  syndicate, 
cum  hotel,  cum  (very  mild)  Eosherville.  There 
were  annually  classes  of  young  women  and  young 
men  who  studied  in  the  little  cottages  for  two  or 
three  months  in  the  year  and  went  away  to  self- 
educate  themselves.  There  were  other  classes  who 
learned  things  by  correspondence,  and  yet  other 
classes  made  up  the  teachers.  All  these  delights 
I  had  missed,  but  had  arrived  just  in  time  for  a 


CHAUTAUQUAED  173 

sort  of  debauch  of  lectures  which  concluded  the 
three  months'  education.  The  syndicate  in  con- 
trol had  hired  various  lecturers  whose  names 
would  draw  audiences,  and  these  men  were  lectur- 
ing about  the  labour  problem,  the  servant-girl 
question,  the  artistic  and  political  aspect  of  Greek 
life,  the  Pope  in  the  Middle  Ages  and  similar  sub- 
jects, in  all  of  which  young  women  do  naturally 
take  deep  delight.  Professor  Mahaffy  (what  the 
devil  was  he  doing  in  that  gallery?)  was  the  Greek 
art  side  man,  and  a  Dr.  Gunsaulus  handled  the 
Pope.  The  latter  I  loved  forthwith.  He  had  been 
to  some  gathering  on  much  the  same  lines  as  the 
Chautauqua  one,  and  had  there  been  detected,  in 
the  open  daylight,  smoking  a  cigar.  One  whole 
lighted  cigar.  Then  his  congregation  or  his  class, 
or  the  mothers  of  both  of  them,  wished  to  know 
whether  this  was  the  sort  of  conduct  for  a  man 
professing  temperance.  I  have  not  heard  Dr. 
Gunsaulus  lecture,  but  he  must  be  a  good  man. 
Professor  Mahaffy  was  enjoying  himself.  I  sat 
close  to  him  at  tiffin  and  heard  him  arguing  with 
an  American  professor  as  to  the  merits  of  the 
American  Constitution.  Both  men  spoke  that  the 
table  might  get  the  benefit  of  their  wisdom,  whence 


174  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

I  argued  that  even  eminent  professors  are 
eminently  human. 

'*  Now,  for  goodness'  sake,  behave  yourself,'* 
said  the  Professor.  **  You  are  not  to  ask  the 
whereabouts  of  a  bar.  You  are  not  to  laugh  at 
anything  you  see,  and  you  are  not  to  go  away  and 
deride  this  Institution. ' ' 

Eemember  that  advice.  But  I  was  virtuous 
throughout,  and  my  virtue  brought  its  own  reward. 
The  parlour  of  the  hotel  was  full  of  committees 
of  women;  some  of  them  were  Methodist  Episco- 
palians, some  were  Congregationalists,  and  some 
were  United  Presbyterians ;  and  some  were  faith 
healers  and  Christian  Scientists,  and  all  trotted 
about  with  notebooks  in  their  hands  and  the  ex- 
pression of  Atlas  on  their  faces.  They  were  con- 
nected with  missions  to  the  heathen,  and  so  forth, 
and  their  deliberations  appeared  to  be  controlled 
by  a  male  missionary.  The  Professor  introduced 
me  to  one  of  them  as  their  friend  from  India. 

'^  Indeed,"  said  she;  **  and  of  what  denomina- 
tion are  you?  " 

**  I — I  live  in  India,"  I  murmured. 

**  You  are  a  missionary,  then?  " 

I  had  obeyed  the  Professor's  orders  all  too  well. 


CHAUTAUQUAED  175 

**  I  am  not  a  missionary,''  I  said,  with,  I  trust,  a 
decent  amount  of  regret  in  my  tones.  She  dropped 
me  and  I  went  to  find  the  Professor,  who  had 
cowardly  deserted  me,  and  I  think  was  laughing 
on  the  balcony.  It  is  very  hard  to  persuade  a 
denominational  American  that  a  man  from  India 
is  not  a  missionary.  The  home-returned  preachers 
very  naturally  convey  the  impression  that  India 
is  inhabited  solely  by  missionaries. 

I  heard  some  of  them  talking  and  saw  how,  all 
unconsciously,  they  were  hinting  the  thing  which 
was  not.  But  prejudice  governs  me  against  my 
will.  When  a  woman  looks  you  in  the  face  and 
pities  you  for  having  to  associate  with  **  heathen  " 
and  **  idolaters  " — Sikh  Sirdar  of  the  north,  if 
you  please,  Mahommedan  gentlemen  and  the  sim- 
ple-minded J  at  of  the  Punjab — ^what  can  you  do? 

The  Professor  took  me  out  to  see  the  sights,  and 
lest  I  should  be  further  treated  as  a  denomina- 
tional missionary  I  wrapped  myself  in  tobacco 
smoke.  This  ensures  respectful  treatment  at 
Chautauqua.  An  amphitheatre  capable  of  seating 
five  thousand  people  is  the  centre-point  of  the 
show.  Here  the  lecturers  lecture  and  the  con- 
certs are  held,  and  from  here  the  avenues  start. 


176  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

Each  cottage  is  decorated  according  to  the  taste 
of  the  owner,  and  is  full  of  girls.  The  verandahs 
are  alive  with  them;  they  fill  the  sinuous  walks; 
they  hurry  from  lecture  to  lecture,  hatless,  and 
three  under  one  sunshade;  they  retail  little  con- 
fidences walking  arm-in-arm;  they  giggle  for  all 
the  world  like  uneducated  maidens,  and  they  walk 
about  and  row  on  the  lake  with  their  very  young 
men.  The  lectures  are  arranged  to  suit  all  tastes. 
I  got  hold  of  one  called  ^  *  The  Eschatology  of  Our 
Saviour. ' '  It  set  itself  to  prove  the  length,  breadth 
and  temperature  of  Hell  from  information  gar- 
nered from  the  New  Testament.  I  read  it  in  the 
sunshine  under  the  trees,  with  these  hundreds  of 
pretty  maidens  pretending  to  be  busy  all  round; 
and  it  did  not  seem  to  match  the  landscape.  Then 
I  studied  the  faces  of  the  crowd.  One-quarter 
were  old  and  worn;  the  balance  were  young,  in- 
nocent, charming  and  frivolous.  I  wondered  how 
much  they  really  knew  or  cared  for  the  art  side  of 
Greek  life,  or  the  Pope  in  the  Middle  Ages;  and 
how  much  for  the  young  men  who  walked  with 
them.  Also  what  their  ideas  of  Hell  might  be. 
We  entered  a  place  called  a  museum  (all  the  shows 
here  are  of  an  improving  tendency),  which  had 


CHAUTAUQUAED  177 

evidently  been  brought  together  by  feminine  hands, 
so  jumbled  were  the  exhibits.  There  was  a 
facsimile  of  the  Eosetta  stone,  with  some  printed 
popular  information;  an  Egyptian  camel  saddle, 
miscellaneous  truck  from  the  Holy  Land,  another 
model  of  the  same,  photographs  of  Eome,  badly- 
blotched  drawings  of  volcanic  phenomena,  the  head 
of  the  pike  that  John  Brown  took  to  Harper's 
Ferry  that  time  his  soul  went  marching  on,  casts 
of  doubtful  value,  and  views  of  Chautauqua,  all 
bundled  together  without  the  faintest  attempt  at 
arrangement,  and  all  very  badly  labelled. 

It  was  the  apotheosis  of  Popular  Information. 
I  told  the  Professor  so,  and  he  said  I  was  an  ass, 
which  didn't  affect  the  statement  in  the  least.  I 
have  seen  museums  like  Chautauqua  before,  and 
well  I  know  what  they  mean.  If  you  do  not  under- 
stand, read  the  first  part  of  Aurora  Leigh,  Lec- 
tures on  the  Chautauqua  stamp  I  have  heard  be- 
fore. People  don't  get  educated  that  way.  They 
must  dig  for  it,  and  cry  for  it,  and  sit  up  o'  nights 
for  it;  and  when  they  have  got  it  they  must 
call  it  by  another  name  or  their  struggle  is  of  no 
avail.  You  can  get  a  degree  from  this  Lawn  Ten- 
nis Tabernacle  of  all  the  arts  and  sciences  at 


178  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

Chautauqua.  Mercifully  the  students  are  women- 
folk, and  if  they  marry  the  degree  is  forgotten, 
and  if  they  become  school-teachers  they  can  only 
instruct  young  America  in  the  art  of  mispronounc- 
ing his  own  language.  And  yet  so  great  is  the 
perversity  of  the  American  girl  that  she  can, 
scorning  tennis  and  the  allurements  of  boating, 
work  herself  nearly  to  death  over  the  skittles  of 
archaeology  and  foreign  tongues,  to  the  sorrow  of 
all  her  friends. 

Late  that  evening  the  contemptuous  courtesy 
of  the  hotel  allotted  me  a  room  in  a  cottage  of 
quarter-inch  planking,  destitute  of  the  most  es- 
sential articles  of  toilette  furniture.  Ten  shillings 
a  day  was  the  price  of  this  shelter,  for  Chautauqua 
is  a  paying  institution.  I  heard  the  Professor 
next  door  banging  about  like  a  big  jack-rabbit  in 
a  very  small  packing-case.  Presently  he  entered, 
holding  between  disgusted  finger  and  thumb  the 
butt  end  of  a  candle,  his  only  light,  and  this  in  a 
house  that  would  burn  quicker  than  cardboard  if 
once  lighted. 

*  *  Isn  't  it  shameful  ?  Isn  't  it  atrocious  1  A  dak 
bungalow  JcJiansamah  wouldn't  dare  to  give  me  a 
raw  candle  to  go  to  bed  by.    I  say,  when  you  de- 


CHAUTAUQUAED  179 

scribe  this  liole  rend  them  to  pieces.    A  candle 
stump !    Give  it  'em  hot. ' ' 

You  will  remember  the  Professor's  advice  to  me 
not  long  ago.  **  'Fessor,"  said  I  loftily  (my  own 
room  was  a  windowless  dog-kennel),  ^*  this  is  un- 
seemly. We  are  now  in  the  most  civilised  country 
on  earth,  enjoying  the  advantages  of  an  Institoo- 
tion  which  is  the  flower  of  civilisation  of  the  nine- 
teenth century;  and  yet  you  kick  up  a  fuss  over 
being  obliged  to  go  to  bed  by  the  stump  of  a 
candle!  Think  of  the  Pope  in  the  Middle  Ages. 
Eeflect  on  the  art  side  of  Greek  life.  Kemember 
the  Sabbath  day  to  keep  it  holy,  and  get  out  of 
this.  You're  filling  two-thirds  of  my  room." 
****** 

Apropos  of  Sabbath,  I  have  come  across  some 
lovely  reading  which  it  grieves  me  that  I  have 
not  preserved.  Chautauqua,  you  must  know,  shuts 
down  on  Sundays.  With  awful  severity  an 
eminent  clergyman  has  been  writing  to  the  papers 
about  the  beauties  of  the  system.  The  stalls  that 
dispense  terrible  drinks  of  Moxie,  typhoidal  milk- 
shakes and  sulphuric-acid-on-lime-bred  soda-water 
are  stopped;  boating  is  forbidden;  no  steamer  c^ls 
at  the  jetty,  and  the  nearest  railway  station  is 


180  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

three  miles  off,  and  you  can't  hire  a  conveyance; 
the  barbers  must  not  shave  you,  and  no  milkman 
or  butcher  goes  his  rounds.  The  reverend  gen- 
tleman enjoys  this  (he  must  wear  a  beard) .  I  for- 
get his  exact  words,  but  they  run:  **  And  thus, 
thank  God,  no  one  can  supply  himself  on  the 
Lord's  day  with  the  luxuries  or  conveniences  that 
he  has  neglected  to  procure  on  Saturday."  Of 
course,  if  you  happen  to  linger  inside  the  wicket 
gate — verily  Chautauqua  is  a  close  preserve — over 
Sunday,  you  must  bow  gracefully  to  the  rules  of 
the  place.  But  what  are  you  to  do  with  this  frame 
of  mind?  The  owner  of  it  would  send  missions 
to  convert  the  ^*  heathen,"  or  would  convert  you 
at  ten  minutes'  notice;  and  yet  if  you  called  him 
a  heathen  and  an  idolater  he  would  probably  be 
very  much  offended. 

Oh,  my  friends,  I  have  been  to  one  source  of  the 
river  of  missionary  enterprise,  and  the  waters 
thereof  are  bitter — ^bitter  as  hate,  narrow  as  the 
grave !  Not  now  do  I  wonder  that  the  missionary 
in  the  East  is  at  times,  to  our  thinking,  a  little 
intolerant  towards  beliefs  he  cannot  understand 
and  people  he  does  not  appreciate.  Eather  it  is  a 
mystery  to  me  that  these  delegates  of  an  imperious 


CHAUTAUQUAED  181 

ecclesiasticism  have  not  a  hundred  tunes  ere  this 
provoked  murder  and  fire  among  our  wards.  If 
they  were  true  to  the  iron  teachings  of  Centre- 
ville  or  Petumna  or  Chunkhaven,  when  they  came 
they  would  have  done  so.  For  Centreville  or 
Smithson  or  Squeehawken  teach  the  only  true 
creeds  in  all  the  world,  and  to  err  from  their  tenets, 
as  laid  down  by  the  bishops  and  the  elders,  is 
damnation.  How  it  may  be  in  England  at  the 
centres  of  supply  I  cannot  tell,  but  shall  presently 
learn.  Here  in  America  I  am  afraid  of  these  grim 
men  of  denominations,  who  know  so  intimately  the 
will  of  the  Lord  and  enforce  it  to  the  uttermost. 
Left  to  themselves  they  would  prayerfully,  in  all 
good  faith  and  sincerity,  slide  gradually,  ere  a 
hundred  years,  from  the  mental  inquisitions  which 
they  now  work  with  some  success  to  an  institootion 
— be  sure  it  would  be  an  *  *  institootion ' '  with  a 
journal  of  its  own — ^not  far  different  from  what 
the  Torquemada  ruled  aforetime.  Does  this  mean 
extravagant?  I  have  watched  the  expression  on 
the  men's  faces  when  they  told  me  that  they  would 
rather  see  their  son  or  daughter  dead  at  their  feet 
than  doing  such  and  such  things — trampling  on 
the  grass  on  a  Sunday,  or  something  equally  hei- 


182  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

nous — and  I  was  grateful  that  the  law  of  men  stood 
between  me  and  their  interpretation  of  the  law  of 
God.  They  would  assuredly  slay  the  body  for  the 
souPs  sake  and  account  it  righteousness.  And 
this  would  befall  not  in  the  next  generation,  per- 
haps, but  in  the  next,  for  the  very  look  I  saw  in  a 
Eusufzai^s  face  at  Peshawar  when  he  turned  and 
spat  in  my  tracks  I  have  seen  this  day  at  Chautau- 
qua in  the  face  of  a  preacher.  The  will  was  there, 
but  not  the  power. 

The  Professor  went  up  the  lake  on  a  visit,  taking 
my  ticket  of  admission  with  him,  and  I  found  a 
child,  aged  seven,  fishing  with  a  worm  and  a  pin, 
and  spent  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  in  his  com- 
pany. He  was  a  delightful  young  citizen,  full  of 
information  and  apparently  ignorant  of  denomina- 
tions. We  caught  sunfish  and  catfish  and  pickerel 
together. 

The  trouble  began  when  I  attempted  to  escape 
through  the  wicket  on  the  jetty  and  let  the  creeds 
fight  it  out  among  themselves.  Without  that 
ticket  I  could  not  go,  unless  I  paid  five  dollars. 
That  was  the  rule  to  prevent  people  cheating. 

**  You  see,"  quoth  a  man  in  charge,  '*  you've  no 
idea  of  the  meanness  of  these  people.    Why,  there 


CHAUTAUQUAED  183 

was  a  lady  this  season — a  prominent  member  of 
the  Baptist  connection — ^we  know,  bnt  we  can't 
prove  it  that  she  had  two  of  her  hired  girls  in  a 
cellar  when  the  grounds  were  being  canvassed  for 
the  annual  poll-tax  of  ^we  dollars  a  head.  So  she 
saved  ten  dollars.  We  can't  be  too  careful  with 
this  crowd.  YouVe  got  to  produce  that  ticket  as 
proof  that  you  haven't  been  living  in  the  grounds 
for  weeks  and  weeks." 

**  For  weeks  and  weeks!  "  The  blue  went  out 
of  the  sky  as  he  said  it.  **  But  I  wouldn't  stay 
here  for  one  week  if  I  could  help  it,"  I  an- 
swered. 

**  No  more  would  I,"  he  said  earnestly. 

Eeturned  the  Professor  in  a  steamer,  and  him  I 
basely  left  to  make  explanation  about  that  ticket, 
while  I  returned  to  Lakewood — the  nice  hotel  with- 
out any  regulations.  I  feared  that  I  should  be 
kept  in  those  terrible  grounds  for  the  rest  of  my 
life. 

And  it  turned  out  an  hour  later  that  the  same 
fear  lay  upon  the  Professor  also.  He  arrived 
heated  but  exultant,  having  baffled  the  combined 
forces  of  all  the  denominations  and  recovered  the 
five-dollar  deposit.    **  I  wouldn't  go  inside  those 


184  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

gates  for  anything,"  he  said.  **  I  waited  on  the 
jetty.    What  do  you  think  of  it  all !  " 

**  It  has  shown  me  a  new  side  of  American  life," 
I  responded.  ^ '  I  never  want  to  see  it  again — and 
I'm  awfully  sorry  for  the  girls  who  take  it 
seriously.  I  suppose  the  bulk  of  them  don't.  They 
just  have  a  good  time.  But  it  would  be  better " 

"  How?  " 

*  *  If  they  all  got  married  instead  of  pumping  up 
interest  in  a  bric-a-brac  museum  and  advertised 
lectures,  and  having  their  names  in  the  papers. 
One  never  gets  to  believe  in  the  proper  destiny 
of  woman  until  one  sees  a  thousand  of  'em  doing 
something  different.  I  don't  like  Chautauqua. 
There's  something  wrong  with  it,  and  I  haven't 
time  to  find  out  where.    But  it  is  wrong." 


THE  BOW  FLUME  CABLE-CAE 

**QEE  those  things  yonder?  "  He  looked  in  the 
^^  direction  of  the  Market  Street  cable-cars 
which,  moved  without  any  visible  agency,  were 
conveying  the  good  people  of  San  Francisco  to  a 
picnic  somewhere  across  the  harbour.  The 
stranger  was  not  more  than  seven  feet  high.  His 
face  was  burnished  copper,  his  hands  and  beard 
were  fiery  red  and  his  eyes  a  baleful  blue.  He  had 
thrust  his  large  frame  into  a  suit  of  black  clothes 
which  made  no  pretensions  toward  fitting  him,  and 
his  cheek  was  distended  with  plug-tobacco. 
*  ^  Those  cars, ' '  he  said,  more  to  himself  than  to  me, 
*^  run  upon  a  concealed  cable  worked  by  machin- 
ery, and  that's  what  broke  our  syndicate  at  Bow 
Flume*.  Concealed  machinery,  no — concealed 
ropes.  Don't  you  mix  yourself  with  them.  They 
are  ontrustworthy. " 

^^  These  cars  work  comfortably,"  I  ventured. 
**  They  run  over  people  now  and  then,  but  that 
doesn't  matter." 

185 


186  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

**  Certainly  not,  not  in  'Frisco — ^by  no  means. 
It's  different  out  yonder."  He  waved  a  palm- 
leaf  fan  in  the  direction  of  Mission  Dolores  among 
the  sandhills.  Then  without  a  moment's  pause, 
and  in  a  low  and  melancholy  voice,  he  continued : 
**  Young  feller,  all  patent  machinery  is  a 
monopoly,  and  don't  you  try  to  bust  it  or  else  it 
will  bust  you.  'Bout  five  years  ago  I  was  at  Bow 
Flume — a  minin'-town  way  back  yonder — ^beyond 
the  Sacramento.  I  ran  a  saloon  there  with 
O 'Grady — Howlin'  0 'Grady,  so  called  on  account 
of  the  noise  he  made  when  intoxicated.  I  never 
christened  my  saloon  any  high-soundin'  name,  but 
owing  to  my  happy  trick  of  firing  out  men  who  was 
too  full  of  bug-juice  and  disposed  to  be  pro- 
miscuous in  their  dealin's,  the  boys  -^alled  it  *  The 
Wake  Up  an'  Git  Bar.'  0 'Grady,  my  partner, 
was  an  unreasonable  inventorman.  He  invented  a 
check  on  the  Whisky  bar 'Is  that  wasn't  no  good 
except  lettin'  the  whisky  run  off  at  odd  times  and 
shutting  down  when  a  man  was  most  thirstiest.  I 
remember  half  Bow  Flume  city  firing  their  six- 
shooters  into  a  cask — and  Bourbon  at  that — ^which 
was  refusing  to  run  on  account  of  0 'Grady's 
patent  double-check  tap.    But  that  wasn't  what  I 


THE  BOW  FLUME  CABLE-CAR     187 

started  to  tell  you  about — ^not  by  a  long  ways. 
3 'Grady  went  to  'Frisco  when  the  Bow  Flume 
saloon  was  booming.  He  bed  a  good  time  in 
'Frisco,  kase  he  came  back  with  a  very  bad  head 
md  no  clothes  worth  talkin'  about.  He  had  been 
iailed  most  time,  but  he  had  investigated  the 
nechanism  of  these  cars  yonder — ^when  he  wasn't 
n  the  cage.  He  came  back  with  the  liquor  for  the 
saloon,  and  the  boys  whooped  round  him  for  half 
I  day,  singing  songs  of  glory.  *  Boys,'  says 
} 'Grady,  when  a  half  of  Bow  Flume  were  lying  on 
he  floor  kissing  the  cuspidors  and  singing  '  Way 
3own  the  Swanee  River,'  being  full  of  some  new 
ituff  0 'Grady  had  got  up  from  'Frisco — *  boys,' 
lays  0  'Grady,  ^  I  have  the  makings  of  a  company 
n  me.  You  know  the  road  from  this  saloon  to 
5ow  Flume  is  bad  and  'most  perpendicular. '  That 
vas  the  exact  state  of  the  cas^..  Bow  Flume  city 
ras  three  hundred  feet  abov^  our  saloon.  The 
►oys  used  to  roll  down  and  get  full,  and  any  that 
lappened  to  be  sober  rolled  them  up  again  when 
he  time  came  to  get.  Some  dropped  into  the 
anon  that  way — ^bad  payers  mostly.  You  see,  a 
aan  held  all  the  hill  Bow  Flume  was  built  on,  and 
le  wanted  forty  thousand  dollars  for  a  forty-five 


188  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

by  hundred  lot  o'  ground.  We  kept  the  whisky 
and  the  boys  came  down  for  it.  The  exercise  dis- 
posed them  to  thirst.  '  Boys,'  says  0 'Grady,  *  as 
you  know,  I  have  visited  the  great  metropolis  of 
'Frisco.'  Then  they  had  drinks  all  round  for 
'Frisco.  *  And  I  have  been  jailed  a  few  while  en- 
joying the  sights.'  Then  they  had  drinks  all 
round  for  the  jail  that  held  0 'Grady.  '  But,'  he 
says,  *  I  have  a  proposal  to  make.'  More  drinks 
on  account  of  the  proposal.  *  I  have  got  hold  of 
the  idea  of  those  'Frisco  cable-cars.  Some  of  the 
idea  I  got  in  'Frisco.  The  rest  I  have  invented,' 
says  0 'Grady.  Then  they  drank  all  round  for 
the  invention. 

*  *  I  am  coming  to  the  point.  0  'Grady  made  a 
company — the  drunkest  I  ever  saw — to  run  a  cable- 
car  on  the  'Frisco  model  from  *  Wake  Up  an'  Git 
Saloon  '  to  Bow  Flume.  The  boys  put  in  about 
four  thousand  dollars,  for  Bow  Flume  was  squirl- 
ing  gold  then.  There's  nary  shanty  there  now. 
0 'Grady  put  in  four  thousand  dollars  of  his  own, 
and  I  was  roped  in  for  as  much.  0  'Grady  desired 
the  concern  to  represent  the  resources  of  Bow 
Flume.    We  got  a  car  built  in  'Frisco  for  two 


THE  BOW  FLUME  CABLE-CAE     189 

thousand  dollars,  with  an  elegant  bar  at  one  end — 
nickel-plated  fixings  and  ruby  glass. 

**  The  notion  was  to  dispense  liquor  en  route,  A 
Bow  Flume  man  could  put  himself  outside  two 
irinks  in  a  minute  and  a  half,  the  same  not  being 
pressed  for  urgent  business.  The  boys  graded  the 
road  for  love,  and  we  run  a  rope  in  a  little  trough 
n  the  middle.  That  rope  ran  swift,  and  any  blame 
Pool  that  had  his  foot  cut  off,  fooling  in  the  middle 
3f  the  road,  might  ha'  found  salvation  by  using  our 
Bow  Flume  Palace  Car.  The  boys  said  that  was 
square.  0 'Grady  took  the  contract  for  building 
the  engine  to  wind  the  rope.  He  called  his  show 
a  mule — it  was  a  crossbreed  between  a  threshing 
machine  and  an  elevator  ram.  I  don't  think  he 
iiad  followed  the  'Frisco  patterns.  He  put  all  our 
ioUars  into  that  blamed  barroom  on  the  car,  know- 
ing what  would  please  the  boys  best.  They  didn't 
3are  much  about  the  machinery,  so  long  as  the  car 
[lummed. 

"  We  charged  the  boys  a  dollar  a  head  per  trip. 
Dne  free  drink  included.  That  paid — paid  like — 
Paradise.  They  liked  the  motion.  0 'Grady  was 
engineer,  and  another  man  sort  of  tended  to  the 
rope  engine  when  he  wasn't  otherwise  engaged. 


190  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

Those  cable-cars  run  by  gripping  on  to  the  rope. 
You  know  that.  When  the  grip's  off  the  car  is 
braked  down  and  stands  still.  There  ought  to 
have  been  two  cars  by  right — one  to  run  up  and 
the  other  down.  But  0 'Grady  had  a  blamed  in- 
vention for  reversing  the  engine,  so  the  cable  ran 
both  ways — up  to  Bow  Flume  and  down  to  the 
saloon — the  terminus  being  in  front  of  our  door. 
A  man  could  kick  a  friend  slick  from  the  bar  into 
the  car.  The  boys  appreciated  that.  The  Bow 
Flume  Palace  Car  Company  earned  twenty  on  the 
hundred  in  three  months,  besides  the  profits  of  the 
drinks.  We  might  have  lasted  to  this  day  if 
0 'Grady  hadn't  tinkered  his  blamed  engine  up  on 
top  of  Bow  Flume  Hill.  The  boys  complained  the 
show  didn't  hum  sufficient.  They  required  rail- 
road speed.  0 'Grady  ran  'em  up  and  down  at 
fourteen  miles  an  hour;  and  his  latest  improve- 
ment was  to  touch  twenty- four.  The  strain  on 
the  brakes  was  terrible — quite  terrible.  But  every 
time  0  'Grady  raised  the  record,  the  boys  gave  him 
a  testimonial.  'Twasn't  in  human  nature  not  to 
crowd  ahead  after  that.  Testimonials  demoralise 
the  publickest  of  men. 
**I  rode  on  the  car  that  memorial  day.    Just 


THE  BOW  FLUME  CABLE-CAR     191 

as  we  started  with  a  double  load  of  boys  and 
a  razzle-dazzle  assortment  of  drinks,  something 
went  zip  under  the  car  bottom.  We  proceeded 
with  velocity.  All  the  prominent  members  of  the 
company  were  aboard.  *  The  grip  has  got 
snubbed  on  the  rope,'  says  0 'Grady  quite  quietly. 
*  Boys,  this  will  be  the  biggest  smash  on  record. 
Something's  going  to  happen.'  We  proceeded  at 
the  rate  of  twenty- four  miles  an  hour  till  the  end 
of  our  journey.  I  don't  know  what  happened 
there.  We  could  get  clear  of  the  rope  anyways  at 
the  point  where  it  turned  round  a  puUy  to  start 
lip  hill  again.  We  struck — struck  the  stoop  of  the 
^  Wake  Up  an'  Git  Saloon  ' — my  saloon — and  the 
Qext  thing  I  knew  was  feeling  of  my  legs  under  an 
assortment  of  matchwood  and  broken  glass,  repre- 
senting liquor  and  fixtures  to  the  tune  of  eight 
thousand.  The  car  had  been  flicked  through  the 
saloon,  bringing  down  the  entire  roof  on  the  floor. 
[t  had  then  bucked  out  into  the  firmament,  describ- 
ing a  parabola  over  the  bluff  at  the  back  of  the 
saloon,  and  was  lying  at  the  foot  of  that  bluff,  three 
liundred  feet  below,  like  a  busted  kaleidoscope — 
all  nickel,  shavings  and  bits  of  red  glass.  0  'Grady 
and  most  of  the  prominent  members  of  the  com- 


192  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

pany  were  dead — ^very  dead — and  there  wasn't 
enough  left  of  the  saloon  to  pay  for  a  drink.  I 
took  in  the  situation  lying  on  my  stomach  at  the 
edge  of  the  bluff,  and  I  suspicioned  that  any  law- 
suits that  might  arise  would  be  complicated  by 
shooting.  So  I  quit  Bow  Flume  by  the  back  trail. 
I  guess  the  coroner  judged  that  there  were  no  sum- 
mons— leastways  I  never  heard  any  more  about 
it.  Since  that  time  IVe  had  a  distrust  to  cable- 
cars.  The  rope  breaking  is  no  great  odds,  bekase 
you  can  stop  the  car,  but  it's  getting  the  grip 
tangled  with  the  running  rope  that  spreads  ruin 
and  desolation  over  thriving  communities  and 
prevents  the  development  of  local  resources." 


IN  PAETIBUS 

rW^HE  'buses  run  to  Battersea, 

The  'buses  run  to  Bow, 
The  'buses  run  to  Westbourne  Grove, 

And  Nottinghill  also; 
But  I  am  sick  of  London  town, 

From  Shepherd's  Bush  to  Bow. 

I  see  the  smut  upon  my  cuff 

And  feel  him  on  my  nose ; 
I  cannot  leave  my  window  wide 

When  gentle  zephyr  blows, 
Because  he  brings  disgusting  things 

And  drops  'em  on  my  *^  clo'es." 

The  sky,  a  greasy  soup-toureen. 
Shuts  down  atop  my  brow. 

Yes,  I  have  sighed  for  London  town 
And  I  have  got  it  now : 

And  half  of  it  is  fog  and  filth,  ' 

And  half  is  fog  and  row. 

108 


194  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

And  when  I  take  my  nightly  prowl, 

Tis  passing  good  to  meet 
The  pious  Briton  lugging  home 

His  wife  and  daughter  sweet, 
Through  four  packed  miles  of  seething  vice, 

Thrust  out  upon  the  street. 

Earth  holds  no  horror  like  to  this 

In  any  land  displayed. 
From  Suez  unto  Sandy  Hook, 

From  Calais  to  Port  Said; 
Ai^d  'twas  to  hide  their  heathendom 

The  beastly  fog  was  made. 

I  cannot  tell  when  dawn  is  near, 

Or  when  the  day  is  done. 
Because  I  always  see  the  gas 

And  never  see  the  sun. 
And  now,  methinks,  I  do  not  care 

A  cuss  for  either  one. 

But  stay,  there  was  an  orange,  or 

An  aged  egg  its  yolk ; 
It  might  have  been  a  Pears'  balloon 

Or  Barnum's  latest  joke: 


IN  PARTIBUS  195 

I  took  it  for  the  sun  and  wept 
To  watch  it  through  the  smoke. 

It's  Oh  to  see  the  morn  ablaze 

Above  the  mango-tope, 
When  homeward  through  the  dewy  cane 

The  little  jackals  lope, 
And  half  Bengal  heaves  into  view. 

New-washed — with  sunlight  soap. 

It's  Oh  for  one  deep  whisky  peg 
When  Christmas  winds  are  blowing. 

When  all  the  men  you  ever  knew, 
And  all  you've  ceased  from  knowing, 

Are  ^*  entered  for  the  Tournament, 
And  everything  that's  going." 

But  I  consort  with  long-haired  things 

In  velvet  collar-rolls, 
Who  talk  about  the  Aims  of  Art, 

And  **  theories  "  and  '*  goals," 
And  moo  and  coo  with  women-folk 

About  their  blessed  souls. 

But  that  they  call  ''  psychology  " 
Is  lack  of  liver  pill, 


196  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

And  all  that  blights  their  tender  souls 

Is  eating  till  they're  ill, 
And  their  chief  way  of  winning  goals 

Consists  of  sitting  still. 

It's  Oh  to  meet  an  Army  man, 
Set  up,  and  trimmed  and  taut, 

Who  does  not  spout  hashed  libraries 
Or  think  the  next  man's  thought. 

And  walks  as  though  he  owned  himself, 
And  hogs  his  bristles  short. 

Hear  now,  a  voice  across  the  seas 

To  kin  beyond  my  ken, 
If  ye  have  ever  filled  an  hour 

With  stories  from  my  pen, 
For  pity's  sake  send  some  one  here 

To  bring  me  news  of  men ! 

The  'buses  run  to  Islington, 

To  Highgate  and  Soho, 
To  Hammersmith  and  Kew  therewith, 

And  Camherwell  also, 
But  I  can  only  murmur  ^'  'Bus  " 

From  Shepherd's  Bush  to  Bow. 


LETTEES  ON  LEAVE 


rjlO  Lieutenant  John  McHail, 
^      151st  (Kumharsen)  P.  N.  L, 

Hakaiti  via  Tharanda, 
Assam. 

Deab  Old  Man:  Your  handwriting  is  worse 
than  ever,  but  as  far  as  I  can  see  among  the  loops 
and  fish-hooks,  you  are  lonesome  and  want  to  be 
comforted  with  a  letter.  I  knew  you  wouldn't 
write  to  me  unless  you  needed  something. 
You  don't  tell  me  that  you  have  left  your 
regiment,  but  from  what  you  say  about  *  *  my  bat- 
talion," **  my  men,"  and  so  forth,  it  seems  as  if 
you  were  raising  military  police  for  the  benefit  of 
the  Chins.  If  that's  the  case,  I  congratulate  you. 
The  pay  is  good.  Ouless  writes  to  me  from  some 
new  fort  something  or  other,  saying  that  he  has 
struggled  into  a  billet  of  Es.  700  (Military  Police), 
and  instead  of  being  chased  by  writters  as  he 
,  197 


198  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

used  to  be,  is  ravaging  the  country  round  Shillong 
in  search  of  a  wife.  I  am  very  sorry  for  the  Mrs. 
Ouless  of  the  future. 

That  doesn't  matter.  You  probably  know  more 
about  the  boys  yonder  than  I  do.  If  you'll  only 
send  me  from  time  to  time  some  records  of  their 
movements  I'll  try  to  tell  you  of  things  on  this 
side  of  the  water.  You  say  ^*  You  don't  know 
what  it  is  to  hear  from  town."  I  say  **  You  don't 
know  what  it  is  to  hear  from  the  dehat/'  Now 
and  again  men  drift  in  with  news,  but  I  don't  like 
hot-weather  khubher.  It's  all  of  the  domestic  oc- 
currence kind.  Old  **  Hat  "  Constable  came  to 
see  me  the  other  day.  You  remember  the  click  in 
his  throat  before  he  begins  to  speak.  He  sat  still, 
clicking  at  quarter-hour  intervals,  and  after  each 
click  he'd  say:  **  D'ye  remember  Mistress  So-an'- 
So?  Well,  she's  dead  o'  typhoid  at  Naogong." 
When  it  wasn't  *' Mistress  So-an'-So  "  it  was  a 
man.  I  stood  four  clicks  and  four  deaths,  and 
then  I  asked  him  to  spare  me  the  rest.  You  seem 
to  have  had  a  bad  season,  taking  it  all  round,  and 
the  women  seem  to  have  suffered  most.  Is  that 
so? 

We  don't  die  in  London.    We  go  out  of  town, 


LETTEES  ON  LEAVE  199 

and  we  make  as  nmch  fuss  about  it  as  if  we  were 
going  to  the  Neva.  Now  I  understand  why  the  trans- 
port is  the  first  thing  to  break  down  when  our 
army  takes  the  field.  The  Englishman  is  cum- 
brous in  his  movements  and  very  particular  about 
his  baskets  and  hampers  and  trunks — not  less 
than  seven  of  each — for  a  fifty-mile  journey. 
Leave  season  began  some  weeks  ago,  and  there 
is  a  burra-choop  along  the  streets  that  you  could 
shovel  with  a  spade.  All  the  people  that  say  they 
are  everybody  have  gone — quite  two  hundred 
miles  away.  Some  of  'em  are  even  on  the 
Continent — and  the  clubs  are  full  of  strange  folk. 
I  found  a  Eef orm  man  at  the  Savage  a  week  ago. 
He  didn't  say  what  his  business  was,  but  he  was 
dusty  and  looked  hungry.  I  suppose  he  had  come 
in  for  food  and  shelter. 

Like  the  rest  I'm  on  leave  too.  I  converted  my- 
self into  a  Government  Secretary,  awarded  my- 
self one  month  on  full  pay  with  the  chance  of  an 
extension,  and  went  off.  Then  it  rained  and 
hailed,  and  rained  again,  and  I  ran  up  and  down 
this  tiny  country  in  trains  trying  to  find  a  dry 
place.  After  ten  days  I  came  back  to  town, 
having  been  stopped  by  the  sea  four  times.    I 


200  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

was  rather  like  a  kitten  at  the  bottom  of  a  bucke 
chasing  its  own  tail.  So  I'm  sitting  here  under  a 
grey,  muggy  sky  wondering  what  sort  of  time  they 
are  having  at  Simla.  It's  August  now.  The 
rains  would  be  nearly  over,  all  the  theatricals 
would  be  in  full  swing,  and  Jakko  Hill  would  be 
just  Paradise.  You're  probably  pink  with  prickly 
heat.  Sit  down  quietly  under  the  punkah  and 
think  of  Umballa  station,  hot  as  an  oven  at  four  in 
the  morning.  Think  of  the  dak-gharry  slobbering 
in  the  wet,  and  the  first  little  cold  wind  that  comes 
round  the  first  corner  after  the  tonga  is  clear  of 
Kalka.  There's  a  wind  you  and  I  know  well.  It's 
blowing  over  the  grass  at  Dugshai  this  very- 
moment,  and  there's  a  smell  of  hot  fir  trees  all 
along  and  along  from  Solon  to  Simla,  and  some 
happy  man  is  flying  up  that  road  with  fragments 
of  a  tonga-bar  in  his  eye,  his  pet  terrier  under 
his  arm,  his  thick  clothes  on  the  back-seat  and 
the  certainty  of  a  month's  pure  joy  in  front  of 
him.  Instead  of  which  you're  being  stewed  at 
Hakaiti  and  I'm  sitting  in  a  second-hand  atmos- 
phere above  a  sausage-shop,  watching  three  spar- 
rows playing  in  a  dirty-green  tree  and  pretending 
that  it's  summer.    I  have  a  view  of  very  many 


LETTEES  ON  LEAVE  201 

streets  and  a  river.  Except  the  advertisements 
on  the  walls,  there  isn't  one  speck  of  colour  as 
far  as  my  eye  can  reach.  The  very  cat,  who  is  an 
amiable  beast,  comes  off  black  under  my  hand, 
and  I  daren't  open  the  window  for  fear  of  smuts. 
And  this  is  better  than  a  soaked  and  sobbled 
country,  with  the  corn-shocks  standing  like 
plover's  eggs  in  green  moss  and  the  oats  lying 
flat  in  moist  lumps.  We  haven't  had  any  summer, 
and  yesterday  I  smelt  the  raw  touch  of  the  winter. 
Just  one  little  whiff  to  show  that  the  year  had 
turned:  **  Oh,  what  a  happy  land  is  England! " 

I  cannot  understand  the  white  man  at  home. 
You  remember  when  we  went  out  together  and 
landed  at  the  Apollo  Bunder  with  all  our  sor- 
rows before  us,  and  went  to  Watson's  Hotel  and 
saw  the  snake-charmers?  You  said:  ^*  It'll  take 
me  all  my  lifetime  to  distinguish  one  nigger  from 
another."  That  was  eight  years  ago.  Now  you 
don't  call  them  niggers  any  more,  and  you're 
supposed — quite  wrongly — to  have  an  insight  into 
native  character,  or  else  you  would  never  have 
been  allowed  to  recruit  for  the  Kumharsens.  I 
feel  as  I  felt  at  Watson's.  They  are  so  deathlily 
alike,  especially  the  more  educated.      They  all 


202  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

seem  to  read  the  same  books,  and  the  same  news- 
papers telling  'em  what  to  admire  in  the  same 
books,  and  they  all  quote  the  same  passages  from 
the  same  books,  and  they  write  books  on  books 
about  somebody  else's  books,  and  they  are  pene- 
trated to  their  boot-heels  with  a  sense  of  the  awful 
seriousness  of  their  own  views  of  the  moment. 
Above  that  they  seem  to  be,  most  curiously  and 
beyond  the  right  of  ordinary  people,  divorced 
from  the  knowledge  or  fear  of  death.  Of  course, 
every  man  conceives  that  every  man  except  him- 
self is  bound  to  die  (you  remember  how  Hallatt 
L^^oke  the  night  before  he  went  out),  but  these 
men  appear  to  be  like  children  in  that  respect. 

I  can't  explain  exactly,  but  it  gives  an  air  of 
unreality  to  their  most  earnest  eariiestnesses ; 
and  when  a  young  man  of  views  and  culture  and 
aspirations  is  in  earnest,  the  trumpets  of  Jericho 
are  silent  beside  him.  Because  they  have  every- 
thing done  for  them  they  know  how  everything 
ought  to  be  done;  and  they  are  perfectly  certain 
that  wood  pavements,  policemen,  shops  and  gas- 
light come  in  the  regular  course  of  nature.  You 
can  guess  with  these  convictions  how  thoroughly 
and  cocksurely  they  handle  little  trifles  like  colo- 


LETTERS  ON  LEAVE  203 

nial  administration,  the  wants  of  the  army,  munici- 
pal sewage,  housing  of  the  poor,  and  so  forth. 
Every  third  common  need  of  average  men  is,  in 
their  mouths,  a  tendency  or  a  movement  or  a 
federation  affecting  the  world.  It  never  seems 
to  occur  to  ^em  that  the  human  instinct  of  getting 
as  much  as  possible  for  money  paid,  or,  failing 
money,  for  threats  and  fawnings,  is  about  as  old 
as  Cain;  and  the  burden  of  their  bat  is:  ^*  Me  an' 
a  few  mates  o'  mine  are  going  to  make  a  new 
world.*' 

As  long  as  men  only  write  and  talk  they  must 
think  that  way,  I  suppose.  It's  compensation  ff)r 
playing  with  little  things.  And  that  reminds  me. 
Do  you  know  the  University  smile?  You  don't 
by  that  name,  but  sometimes  young  civilians  wear 
it  for  a  very  short  time  when  they  first  come  out. 
Something — I  wonder  if  it's  our  brutal  chaff,  or  a 
billiard-cue,  or  which  ?^ — takes  it  out  of  their  faces, 
and  when  they  next  differ  with  you  they  do  so 
without  smiling.  But  that  smile  flourishes  in 
London.  I've  met  it  again  and  again.  It  ex- 
presses tempered  grief,  sorrow  at  your  complete 
inability  to  march  with  the  march  of  progress  at 
the  Universities,  and  a  chastened  contempt.  There 


204  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

is  one  man  who  wears  it  as  a  garment.  He  is 
frivolously  young — not  more  than  thirty-five  or 
forty — and  all  these  years  no  one  has  removed  that 
smile.  He  knows  everything  about  everything  on 
this  earth,  and  above  all  he  knows  all  about  men 
under  any  and  every  condition  of  life.  He  knows 
all  about  the  aggressive  militarism  of  you  and 
your  friends;  he  isn't  quite  sure  of  the  necessity 
of  an  army;  he  is  certain  that  colonial  expansion 
is  nonsense;  and  he  is  more  than  certain  that  the 
whole  step  of  all  our  Empire  must  be  regulated 
by  the  knowledge  and  foresight  of  the  workingman. 
Then  he  smiles — smiles  like  a  seraph  with  an  M.  A. 
degree.  What  can  you  do  with  a  man  like 
that?  He  has  never  seen  an  unmade  road  in  his 
life ;  I  think  he  believes  that  wheat  grows  on  a  tree 
and  that  beef  is  dug  from  a  mine.  He  has  never 
been  forty  miles  from  a  railway,  and  he  has  never 
been  called  upon  to  issue  an  order  to  anybody 
except  his  well-fed  servants.  Isn't  it  wondrous? 
And  there  are  battalions  and  brigades  of  these 
men  in  town  removed  from  the  fear  of  want,  living 
until  they  are  seventy  or  eighty,  sheltered,  fed, 
drained  and  administered,  expending  their  vast 
leisure  in  talking  and  writing. 


LETTERS   ON  LEAVE  205 

But  the  real  fun  begins  much  lower  down  the 
line.  IVe  been  associating  generally  and  very 
particularly  with  the  men  who  say  that  they  are 
the  only  men  in  the  world  who  work — and  they 
call  themselves  the  workingman.  Now  the  work- 
ingman  in  America  is  a  nice  person.  He  says 
he  is  a  man  and  behaves  accordingly.  That  is  to 
say,  he  has  some  notion  that  he  is  part  and  parcel 
of  a  great  country.  At  least,  he  talks  that  way. 
But  in  this  town  you  can  see  thousands  of  men 
meeting  publicly  on  Sundays  to  cry  aloud  that 
everybody  may  hear  that  they  are  poor,  down- 
trodden helots — ^in  fact,  **  the  pore  workin'man." 
At  their  clubs  and  pubs  the  talk  is  the  same.  It's 
the  utter  want  of  self-respect  that  revolts.  My 
friend  the  tobacconist  has  a  cousin,  who  is,  ap- 
parently, sound  in  mind  and  limb,  aged  twenty- 
three,  clear-eyed  and  upstanding.  He  is  a 
*  ^  skibbo  ' '  by  trade — a  painter  of  sorts.  He  mar- 
ried at  twenty  and  he  has  two  children.  He  can 
spend  three-quarters  of  an  hour  talking  about  his 
downtrodden  condition.  He  works  under  another 
Eaj-mistri,  who  has  saved  money  and  started  a 
little  shop  of  his  own.  He  hates  that  Raj-mistri; 
he  loathes  the  police;  and  his  views  on  the  lives 


206  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

and  customs  of  the  aristocracy  are  strange.  He 
approves  of  every  form  of  lawlessness,  and  he 
knows  that  everybody  who  holds  authority  is  sure 
to  be  making  a  good  thing  out  of  iL  Of  himself 
as  a  citizen  he  never  thinks.  Of  himself  as.  an 
Is'hmael  he  thinks  a  good  deal.  He  is  entitled  to 
eight  hours'  work  a  day  and  some  time  off — said 
time  to  be  paid  for ;  he  is  entitled  to  free  education 
for  his  children — and  he  doesn't  want  no  bloomin' 
clergyman  to  teach  'em;  he  is  entitled  to  houses 
especially  built  for  himself  because  he  pays  the 
bulk  of  the  taxes  of  the  country.  He  is  not  going 
to  emigrate,  not  he;  he  reserves  to  himself  the 
right  of  multiplying  as  much  as  he  pleases;  the 
streets  must  be  policed  for  him  while  he  demon- 
strates, immediately  under  my  window,  by  the 
way,  for  ten  consecutive  hours,  and  I  am  probably 
a  thief  because  my  clothes  are  better  than  his. 
The  proposition  is  a  very  simple  one.  He  has  no 
duties  to  the  State,  no  personal  responsibility  of 
any  kind,  and  he'd  sooner  see  his  children  dead 
than  soldiers  of  the  Queen.  The  Government 
owes  him  everything  because  he  is  a  pore  work- 
in 'man.  When  the  Guards  tried  their  Board- 
school  mutiny  at  the  Wellington  Barracks  my 


LETTERS  ON  LEAVE  207 

friend  was  jubilant.  *'  What  did  I  tell  you?  "  he 
said.  **  You  see  the  very  soldiers  won't  stand 
it.'' 

''  What's  it?  " 

**Bein'  treated  like  machines  instead  of  flesh 
and  blood.     'Course  they  won't." 

The  popular  evening  paper  wrote  that  the 
Guards,  with  perfect  justice,  had  rebelled  against 
being  treated  like  machines  instead  of  flesh  and 
flood.  Then  I  thought  of  a  certain  regiment  that 
lay  in  Mian  Mir  for  three  years  and  dropped  four 
hundred  men  out  of  a  thousand.  It  died  of  fever 
and  cholera.  There  were  no  pretty  nursemaids 
to  work  with  it  in  the  streets,  because  there  were 
no  streets.  I  saw  how  the  Guards  amused  them- 
selves and  how  their  sergeants  smoked  in  uniform. 
I  pitied  the  Guards  with  their  cruel  sentry-goes, 
their  three  nights  out  of  bed,  and  their  unlimited 
supply  of  love  and  liquor. 

Another  man,  not  a  workingman,  told  me  that 
the  Guards'  riot — it's  impossible,  as  you  know,  to 
call  this  kick-up  of  the  fatted  flunkies  of  the  army 
a  mutiny — ^was  only  ^*  a  schoolboy's  prank  ";  and 
he  could  not  see  that  if  it  was  what  he  said  it 
was,  the  Guards  were  no  regiment  and  should 


208  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

have  been  wiped  out  decently  and  quietly.  There 
again  the  futility  of  a  sheltered  people  cropped 
up.  You  mustn't  treat  a  man  like  a  machine  in 
this  country,  but  you  can't  get  any  work  out  of 
a  man  till  he  has  learned  to  work  like  a  machine. 

D has  just  come  home  for  a  few  months  from 

the  charge  of  a  mountain  battery  on  the  frontier. 
He  used  to  begin  work  at  eight,  and  he  was  thank- 
ful if  he  got  off  at  six;  most  of  the  time  on  his 
feet.  When  he  went  to  the  Black  Mountains  he 
was  extensively  engaged  for  nearly  sixteen  hours 
a  day ;  and  that  on  food  at  which  the  ^  ^  pore  work- 
in 'man  "  would  have  turned  up  his  state-lifted 
nose.  D on  the  subject  of  labour  as  under- 
stood by  the  white  man  in  his  own  home  is  worth 
hearing.      Though  coarse — considerably  coarse! 

But  D doesn't  know  all  the  hopeless  misery  of 

the  business.  When  the  small  pig,  oyster,  fur- 
niture, carpet,  builder  or  general  shopman  works 
his  way  out  of  the  ruck  he  turns  round  and  makes 
his  old  friends  and  employes  sweat.  He  knows 
how  near  he  can  go  to  flaying  'em  alive  before  they 
kick;  and  in  this  matter  he  is  neither  better  nor 
worse  than  a  hunnia  or  a  havildar  of  our  own 
blessed   country.     It's    the    small   employer   of 


LETTERS  ON  LEAVE  209 

labour  that  skins  his  servant,  exactly  as  the 
forty-pound  householder  works  her  one  white 
servant  to  the  bone  and  goes  to  drop  pennies 
into  the  plate  to  convert  the  heathen  in  the 
East. 

Just  at  present,  as  you  have  read,  the  person 
who  calls  himself  the  pore  workin'man — ^the  man 
I  saw  kicking  fallen  men  in  the  mud  by  the  docks 
last  winter — has  discovered  a  real,  fine,  new 
original  notion;  and  he  is  working  it  for  all  he 
is  worth.  He  calls  it  the  solidarity  of  labour 
hundohast;  but  it^s  caste — four  thousand  years 
old,  caste  of  Menu — with  old  shetts,  mahajuns, 
guildtoUs,  excommunication  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 
All  things  considered,  there  isn't  anything  much 
older  than  caste — it  began  with  the  second  genera- 
tion  of  man  on  earth — but  to  read  the  ''  ad- 
vanced "  papers  on  the  subject  you'd  imagine  it 
was  a  revelation  from  Heaven.  The  real  fun  will 
begin — as  it  has  begun  and  ended  many  times 
before — when  the  caste  of  skilled  labour — that's 
the  pore  workin'man — are  pushed  up  and  knocked 
about  by  the  lower  and  unrecognised  castes,  who 
will  form  castes  of  their  own  and  outcaste  on  the 
decision  of  their  own  punchayats.       How  these 


210  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

castes  will  scuffle  and  fight  among  themselves,  and 
how  astonished  the  Englishman  will  be! 

He  is  naturally  lawless  because  he  is  a  fighting 
animal;  and  his  amazingly  sheltered  condition 
has  made  him  inconsequent.  I  don't  like  inconse- 
quent lawlessness.  IVe  seen  it  down  at  Bow 
Street,  at  the  docks,  by  the  G.  P.  0.,  and  elsewhere. 
Its  chief  home,  of  course,  is  in  that  queer  place 
called  the  House  of  Commons,  but  no  one  goes  there 
who  isn't  forced  by  business.  It's  shut  up  at 
present,  and  the  persons  who  belong  to  it  are  loose 
all  over  the  face  of  the  country.  I  don't  think — 
but  I  won't  swear — that  any  of  them  are  spitting 
at  policemen.  One  man  appears  to  have  been 
poaching,  others  are  advocating  various  forms  of 
murder  and  outrage — and  nobody  seems  to  care. 
The  residue  talk — just  heavens,  how  they  talk, 
and  what  wonderful  fictions  they  tell!  And  they 
firmly  believe,  being  ignorant  of  the  mechanism  of 
Government,  that  they  administer  the  country.  In 
addition,  certain  of  their  newspapers  have 
elaborately  worked  up  a  famine  in  Ireland  that 
could  be  engineered  by  two  Deputy  Commissioners 
and  four  average  Stunts  into  a  **  woe  "  and  a 
*' calamity"   that   is   going  to  overshadow  the 


LETTEES   ON  LEAVE  211 

peace  of  the  nation — even  the  Empire.  I  sup- 
pose they  have  their  own  sense  of  proportion,  but 
they  manage  to  keep  it  to  themselves  very  success- 
fully. What  do  you,  who  have  seen  half  a  country- 
side in  deadly  fear  of  its  life,  suppose  that  this 
people  would  do  if  they  were  chukkered  and 
gabraowedf  If  they  really  knew  what  the  fear 
of  death  and  the  dread  of  injury  implied?  If  they 
died  very  swiftly,  indeed,  and  could  not  count  their 
futile  lives  enduring  beyond  next  sundown?  Some 
of  the  men  from  your — I  mean  our — part  of  the 
world  say  that  they  would  be  afraid  and  break 
and  scatter  and  run.  But  there  is  no  room  in  the 
island  to  run.  The  sea  catches  you,  midwaist, 
at  the  third  step.  I  am  curious  to  see  if  the 
cholera,  of  which  these  people  stand  in  most  lively 
dread,  gets  a  firm  foothold  in  London.  In  that 
case  I  have  a  notion  that  there  will  be  scenes 
and  panics.  They  live  too  well  here,  and  have 
too  much  to  make  life  worth  clinging  to — clubs, 
and  shop  fronts,  and  gas,  and  theatres  and  so 
forth — things  that  they  affect  to  despise,  and 
whereon  and  whereby  they  live  like  leeches.  But 
I  have  written  enough.  It  doesn't  exhaust  the 
subject;   but  you  won't  be  grateful   for   other 


212  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

epistles.  De  Vitre  of  the  Poona  Irregular  Moguls 
will  have  it  that  they  are  a  tiddy-iddy  people.  He 
says  that  all  their  visible  use  is  to  produce  loans 
for  the  colonies  and  men  to  be  used  up  in  develop- 
ing India.  I  honestly  believe  that  the  average  Eng- 
lishman would  faint  if  you  told  him  it  was  lawful 
to  use  up  human  life  for  any  purpose  whatever. 
He  believes  that  it  has  to  be  developed  and  made 
beautiful  for  the  possessor,  and  in  that  belief 
talkatively  perpetrates  cruelties  that  would  make 
Torquemada  jump  in  his  grave.  Go  to  Alipur  if 
you  want  to  see.  I  am  off  to  foreign  parts — forty 
miles  away — to  catch  fish  for  my  friend  the  char- 
cat;  also  to  shoot  a  little  bird  if  I  have  luck. 
Yours, 

EuDYAED  Kipling. 

n 

To  Captain  J.  McHail, 

151st  (Kumharsen)  N.  I., 

Hakaiti  via  Tharanda, 

Captain  Sahib  Bahadur !  The  last  Pi  gives  me 
news  of  your  step,  and  I'm  more  pleased  about  it 
than  many.    You've  been  **  cavalry  quick  "  in 


LETTEES   ON  LEAVE  213 

your  promotion.  Eight  years  and  your  company ! 
Allahu!  But  it  must  have  been  that  long,  lean 
horse-head  of  yours  that  looks  so  wise  and  says 
so  little  that  has  imposed  upon  the  authorities. 
My  best  congratulations.  Let  out  your  belt  two 
holes,  and  be  happy,  as  I  am  not. 

Did  I  tell  you  in  my  last  about  going  to  Woking 
in  search  of  a  grave  1  The  dust  and  the  grime  and 
the  grey  and  the  sausage-shop  told  on  my  spirits 
to  such  an  extent  that  I  solemnly  took  a  train  and 
went  grave-hunting  through  the  Necropolis — 
locally  called  the  Necrapolis.  I  wanted  an  eligi- 
ble, entirely  detached  site  in  a  commanding  posi- 
tion— six  by  three  and  bricked  throughout.  I 
found  it,  but  the  only  drawback  was  that  I  must 
go  back  to  town  to  the  head  office  to  buy  it.  One 
doesn't  go  to  town  to  haggle  for  tomb-space,  so  I 
deferred  the  matter  and  went  fishing.  All  the 
same,  there  are  very  nice  graves  at  Woking,  and 
I  shall  keep  my  eye  on  one  of  'em. 

Since  that  date  I  seem  to  have  been  in  four  or 
five  places,  because  there  are  labels  on  the  bag. 
One  of  the  places  was  Pljmiouth,  where  I  found  half 
a  regiment  at  field  exercises  on  the  Hoe.  They 
were  practising  the  attack  in  three  lines  with  the 


214  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

mixed  rush  at  the  end,  even  as  it  is  laid  down  in 
the  drill-book,  and  they  charged  subdnedly  across 
the  Hoe.  The  people  laughed.  I  was  much  more 
inclined  to  cry.  Except  the  Major,  there  didn't 
seem  to  be  anything  more  than  twenty  years  old 
in  the  regiment ;  and  oh !  but  it  was  pink  and  white 
and  chubby  and  undersized — ^just  made  to  die 
succulently  of  disease.  I  fancied  that  some  of  our 
battalions  out  with  you  were  more  or  less  young 
and  exposed,  but  a  home  battalion  is  a  creche,  and 
it  scares  one  to  watch  it.  Eminent  and  dis- 
tinguished Generals  get  up  after  dinner — I've 
listened  to  two  of  'em — and  explain  that  though 
the  home  battalion  can  only  be  regarded  as  a 
feeder  to  the  foreign,  yet  all  our  battalions  can 
be  regarded  as  efficient;  and  if  they  aren't  efficient 
we  shall  find  in  our  military  reserve  the  nucleus — 
how  I  loathe  that  lying  word — of  the  Lord  knows 
what,  but  the  speeches  always  end  with  allusions 
to  the  spirit  of  the  English,  their  glorious  past, 
and  the  certainty  that  when  the  hour  of  need 
comes  the  nation  will  **  emerge  victorious."  If 
{sic)  the  Engineer  of  the  Hunger  ford  Bridge  told 
the  Southeastern  Eailway  that  because  a  main 
girder  had  stood  for  thirty  years  without  need 


LETTERS  ON  LEAVE  215 

of  renewal  it  was  therefore  sure  to  stand  for 
another  fifty,  he  would  probably  get  the  sack. 
Our  military  authorities  don't  get  the  sack.  They 
are  allowed  to  make  speeches  in  public.  Some 
day,  if  we  live  long  enough,  we  shall  see  the  glories 
of  the  past  and  the  ^^  sublime  instinct  of  an 
ancient  people  '*  without  one  complete  army 
corps,  pitted  against  a  few  unsentimental  long- 
range  guns  and  some  efficiently  organised  troops. 
Then  the  band  will  begin  to  play,  and  it  will  not 
play  Rule  Britannia  until  it  has  played  some  funny 
tunes  first. 

Do  you  remember  Tighe?  He  was  in  the  Dec- 
can  Lancers  and  retired  because  he  got  married. 
He  is  in  Ireland  now,  and  I  met  him  the  other  day, 
idle,  unhappy  and  dying  for  some  work  to  do. 
Mrs.  Tighe  is  equally  miserable.  She  wants  to  go 
back  to  Poona  instead  of  administering  a  big  bar- 
rack of  a  house  somewhere  at  the  back  of  a  fog. 
I  quote  Tighe  here.  He  has,  you  may  remember, 
a  pretty  tongue  about  him,  and  he  was  describing 
to  me  at  length  how  a  home  regiment  behaves 
when  it  is  solemnly  turned  out  for  a  week  or  a 
month  training  under  canvas: 

**  About  four  in  the  mornin',  me  dear  boy,  they 


216  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

begin  pitchin'  their  tents  for  the  next  day — four 
hours  to  pitch  it,  and  the  tent  ropes  a  howlin' 
tangle  when  all's  said  and  sworn.  Then  they  tie 
their  horses  with  strings  to  their  big  toes  and 
go  to  bed  in  hollows  and  caves  in  the  earth  till 
the  rain  falls  and  the  tents  are  flooded,  and  then, 
me  dear  boy,  the  men  and  the  horses  and  the  ropes 
and  the  vegetation  of  the  country  cuddle  each 
other  till  the  morning  for  company's  sake.  The 
next  day  it  all  begins  again.  Just  when  they  are 
beginning  to  understand  how  to  camp  they  are  all 
put  back  into  their  boxes,  and  half  of  'em  have 
lung  disease." 

But  what  is  the  use  of  snarling  and  grumbling! 
The  matter  will  adjust  itself  later  on,  and  the 
one  nation  on  earth  that  talks  and  thinks  most 
of  the  sanctity  of  human  life  will  be  a  little 
astonished  at  the  waste  of  life  for  which  it  will 
be  responsible.  In  those  days,  my  captain,  the 
man  who  can  command  seasoned  troops  and  have 
made  the  best  use  of  those  troops  will  be  sought 
after  and  petted  and  will  rise  to  honour.  Ee- 
member  the  Hakaiti  when  next  you  measure  the 
naked  recruit. 

Let  us  revisit  calmer  scenes.    I've  been  down 


LETTEES   ON  LEAVE  217 

for  three  perfect  days  to  tlie  seaside.  Don't  you 
remember  what  a  really  fine  day  means  ?  A  milk- 
white  sea,  as  smooth  as  glass,  with  bine-white  heat 
haze  hanging  over  it,  one  little  wave  talking  to 
itself  on  the  sand,  warm  shingle,  four  bathing 
machines,  cliff  in  the  background,  and  half  the 
babies  in  Christendom  paddling  and  yelling.  It 
was  a  queer  little  place,  just  near  enough  to  the 
main  line  of  traffic  to  be  overlooked  from  morning 
till  night.  There  was  a  baby — an  Ollendorfian 
baby — with  whom  I  fell  madly  in  love.  She  lived 
down  at  the  bottom  of  a  great  white  sun-bonnet; 
talked  French  and  English  in  a  clear,  bell-like 
voice,  and  of  such  I  fervently  hope  will  the  King- 
dom of  Heaven  be.  When  she  found  that  my 
French  wasn't  equal  to  hers  she  condescendingly 
talked  English  and  bade  me  build  her  houses  of 
stones  and  draw  cats  for  her  through  half  the 
day.  After  I  had  done  everything  that  she 
ordered  she  went  off  to  talk  to  some  one  else.  The 
beach  belonged  to  that  baby,  and  every  soul  on  it 
was  her  servant,  for  I  know  that  we  rose  with 
shouts  when  she  paddled  into  three  inches  of 
water  and  sat  down,  gasping:  **  Mon  Dieu!  Je 
suis  mori!  "    I  know  you  like  the  little  ones,  so  I 


218  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

don't  apologize  for  yarning  about  them.  She  had 
a  sister  aged  seven  and  one-half — a  lovely  child, 
without  a  scrap  of  self-consciousness,  and  enor- 
mous eyes.  Here  comes  a  real  tragedy.  The  girl 
— and  her  name  was  Violet — ^had  fallen  wildly  in 
love  with  a  little  fellow  of  nine.  They  used  to 
walk  up  the  single  street  of  the  village  with  their 
arms  around  each  other's  necks.  Naturally,  she 
did  all  the  little  wooings,  and  Hugh  submitted 
quietly.  Then  devotion  began  to  pall,  and  he 
didn't  care  to  paddle  with  Violet.  Hereupon,  as 
far  as  I  can  gather,  she  smote  him  on  the  head 
and  threw  him  against  a  wall.  Anyhow,  it  was 
very  sweet  and  natural,  and  Hugh  told  me  about 
it  when  I  came  down.  ^^  She's  so  unrulable,"  he 
said.  *'  I  didn't  hit  her  back,  but  I  was  very 
angry."  Of  course,  Violet  repented,  but  Hugh 
grew  suspicious,  and  at  the  psychological  moment 
there  came  down  from  town  a  destroyer  of  de- 
lights and  a  separator  of  companions  in  the  shape 
of  a  tricycle.  Also  there  were  many  little  boys  on 
the  beach — rude,  shouting,  romping  little  chaps — 
who  said:  *'  Come  along!  "  **  Hullo!  "  and  used 
the  wicked  word  *  *  beastly !  ' '  Among  these  Hugh 
became  a  person  of  importance  and  began  to 


LETTEES   ON  LEAVE  219 

realise  that  he  was  a  man  who  could  say 
*' beastly,"  and  **  Come  on!"  with  the  best  of 
'em.  He  preferred  to  run  about  with  the  little 
boys  on  wars  of  expedition,  and  he  wriggled  away 
when  Violet  put  her  arm  around  his  waist.  Violet 
was  hurt  and  angry,  and  I  think  she  slapped  Hugh. 
Eelations  were  strained  when  I  arrived  because 
one  morning  Violet,  after  asking  permission, 
invited  Hugh  to  come  to  lunch.  And  that  bad, 
Spanish-eyed  boy  deliberately  filled  his  bucket 
with  the  cold  sea-water  and  dashed  it  over  Violet's 
pink  ankles.  (Joking  apart,  this  seems  to  be 
about  the  best  way  of  refusing  an  invitation  that 
civilisation  can  invent.  Try  it  on  your  Colonel.) 
She  was  madly  angry  for  a  moment,  and  then 
she  said :  *  *  Let  me  carry  you  up  the  beach,  'cause 
of  the  shingles  in  your  toes."  This  was  divine, 
but  it  didn't  move  Hugh,  and  Violet  went  off  to 
her  mother.  She  sat  down  with  her  chin  in  her 
hand,  looking  out  at  the  sea  for  a  long  time  very 
sorrowfully.  Then  she  said,  and  it  was  her  first 
experience :  *  ^  I  know  that  Hugh  cares  more  for 
his  horrid  bicycle  than  he  does  for  me,  and  if  he 
said  he  didn  't  I  wouldn  't  believe  him. ' ' 
JJv  to  date  Hugh  has  said  nothing.    He  is  run- 


220  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

ning  about  playing  with  the  bold,  bad  little  boys, 
and  Violet  is  sitting  on  a  breakwater,  trying  to 
find  out  why  things  are  as  they  are.  It's  a  nice 
tale,  and  tales  are  scarce  these  days.  Have  you 
noticed  how  small  and  elemental  is  the  stock  of 
them  at  the  world's  disposal?  Men  foregathered 
at  that  little  seaside  place,  and,  manlike,  exchanged 
stories.  They  were  all  the  same  stories.  One 
had  heard  'em  in  the  East  with  Eastern  variations, 
and  in  the  West  with  Western  extravagances 
tacked  on.  Only  one  thing  seemed  new,  and  it 
was  merely  a  phrase  used  by  a  groom  in  speaking 
of  an  ill-conditioned  horse:  **  No,  sir;  he's  not  ill 
in  a  manner  o'  speaking,  but  he's  so  to  speak 
generally  unfriendly  with  his  innards  as  a  usual 
thing." 

I  entrust  this  to  you  as  a  sacred  gift.  See  that 
it  takes  root  in  the  land.  *^  Unfriendly  with  his 
innards  as  a  usual  thing."  Eemember.  It's  bet- 
ter than  laboured  explanations  in  the  rains.  And 
I  fancy  it's  raw. 

And  now.  But  I  had  nearly  forgotten.  We're 
a  nation  of  grumblers,  and  that's  why  other  people 
call  Anglo-Indians  bores.  I  write  feelingly  because 
M. ,  just  home  on  long  leave,  has  for  the  second 


LETTEES   ON  LEAVE  221 

time  sat  on  my  devoted  head  for  two  hours  simply 
and  solely  for  the  purpose  of  swearing  at  the 
Accountant-General.  He  has  given  me  the  whole 
history  of  his  pay,  prospects  and  promotion  twice 
over,  and  in  case  I  should  misunderstand  wants 
me  to  dine  with  him  and  hear  it  all  for  the  third 

time.    If  M would  leave  the  A.-G.  alone  he  is 

a  delightful  man,  as  we  all  know;  but  he's  loose  in 
London  now,  button-holing  English  friends  and 
quoting  leave  and  pay-codes  to  them.  He  wants 
to  see  a  Member  of  Parliament  about  something 
or  other,  and  I  believe  he  spends  his  nights  rolled 
up  in  a  rezai  on  the  stairs  of  the  India  Office  wait- 
ing to  catch  a  secretary.  I  like  the  Indian  Office. 
They  are  so  beautifully  casual  and  lazy,  and  their 
rooms  look  out  over  the  Green  Park,  and  they 
are  never  tired  of  admiring  the  view.  Now  and 
then  a  man  comes  in  to  report  himself,  and  the 
secretaries  and  the  undersecretaries  and  the 
chaprassies  play  battledore  and  shuttlecock  with 
him  until  they  are  tired. 

Some  time  since,  when  I  was  better,  more 
serious  and  earnest  than  I  am  now,  I  preached  a 
jehad  up  and  down  those  echoing  corridors,  and 
suggested  the  abolition  of  the  India  Office  and 


222  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

the  purchase  of  a  four-pound-ten  American  re- 
volving bookcase  to  hold  all  the  documents  on 
India  that  were  of  public  value  or  could  be  com- 
prehended by  the  public.  Now  I  am  more  frivo- 
lous because  I  am  dropping  gently  into  the  grave 
at  Woking;  and  yet  I  believe  in  the  bookcase. 
India  is  bowed  down  with  too  much  duftar  as  it  is, 
and  the  House  of  Correction,  Revision,  Division 
and  Supervision  cannot  do  her  much  good.  I  saw 
a  committee  or  a  council  file  in  the  other  day. 
Only  one  desirable  tale  came  to  me  out  of  that 
office.  If  youVe  heard  it  before  stop  me.  It  be- 
gan with  a  cutting  from  an  obscure  Welsh  paper, 
I  think.  A  man — a  gardener — went  mad,  an- 
nounced that  Lord  Cross  was  the  Messiah  and 
burned  himself  alive  on  a  pile  of  garden  refuse. 
That's  the  first  part.  I  never  could  get  at  the 
second,  but  I  am  credibly  informed  that  the 
work  of  the  India  Office  stood  still  for  three  weeks, 
while  the  entire  staff  took  council  how  to  break 
the  news  to  the  Secretary  of  State.  I  believe  it 
still  remains  unbroken. 

^  ^  ^  ^  4p  * 

Decidedly,  leave  in  England  is  a  disappointing 
thing.    IVe  wandered  into  two  stations  since  I 


LETTERS   ON  LEAVE  223 

wrote  the  last.  Nothing  but  the  labels  on  the  bag 
remain — oh,  and  a  memory  of  a  weighing-in  at  an 
East  End  fishing  club.  That  was  an  experience. 
I  foregathered  with  a  man  on  the  top  of  a  'bus, 
and  we  became  great  friends  because  we  both 
agreed  that  gorge-tackle  for  pike  was  only  per- 
missible in  very  weedy  streams.  He  repeated  his 
views,  which  were  my  views,  nearly  ten  times,  and 
in  the  evening  invited  me  to  this  weighing-in,  at, 
we'll  say,  rooms  of  the  Lea  and  Chertsey  Pisca- 
torial Anglers'  Benevolent  Brotherhood.  "We  as- 
sembled in  a  room  at  the  top  of  a  public-house, 
the  walls  ornamented  with  stuffed  fish  and  water- 
birds,  and  the  anglers  came  in  by  twos  and  threes, 
and  I  was  introduced  to  all  of  'em  as  **  the  gen'le- 
man  I  met  just  now."  This  seemed  to  be  good 
enough  for  all  practical  purposes.  There  were 
ten  and  five  shilling  prizes,  and  the  affable  and 
energetic  clerk  of  the  scales  behaved  as  though  he 
were  weighing-in  for  the  Lucknow  races.  The 
take  of  the  day  was  one  pound  fifteen  ounces  of 
dace  and  roach,  about  twenty  fingerlings,  and  the 
winner,  who  is  in  charge  of  a  railway  book-stall, 
described  minutely  how  he  caught  each  fish.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  roach-fishing  in  the  Lea  and 


224  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

Thames  is  a  fine  art.  Then  there  were  drinks — 
modest  little  drinks — and  they  called  upon  me  for 
a  sentiment.  Yon  know  how  things  go  at  the 
sergeants'  messes  and  some  of  the  lodges.  In  a 
moment  of  brilliant  inspiration  I  gave  ^  ^  free  fish- 
ing in  the  parks  ''  and  brought  down  the  whole 
house.  Sah!  free  fishing  for  coarse  fish  in  the 
Serpentine  and  the  Green  Park  water  would  hurt 
nobody  and  da  a  great  deal  of  good  to  many.  The 
stocking  of  the  water — ^but  what  does  this  interest 
you?  The  Englishman  moves  slowly.  He  is  just 
beginning  to  understand  that  it  is  not  sufficient  to 
set  apart  a  certain  amount  of  land  for  a  lung  of 
London  and  to  turn  people  into  it  with  *  *  There, 
get  along  and  play,"  unless  he  gives  'em  some- 
thing to  play  with.  Thirty  years  hence  he  will 
almost  allow  cafes  and  hired  bands  in  Hyde  Park. 
To  return  for  a  moment  to  the  fish  club.  I  got 
away  at  eleven,  and  in  darkness  and  despair  had 
to  make  my  way  west  for  leagues  and  leagues 
across  London.  I  was  on  the  Mile  End  Road  at 
midnight  and  there  lost  myself,  and  learned  some- 
thing more  about  the  policeman.  He  is  haughty 
in  the  East  and  always  afraid  that  he  is  being 
chaffed.    I  honestly  only  wanted  sailing  directions 


LETTERS   ON  LEAVE  225 

to  get  homeward.  One  policeman  said;  ^*  Get 
along.  You  know  your  way  as  well  as  I  do."  And 
yet  another :  *  ^  You  go  back  to  the  country  where 
you  comed  from.  You  ain't  doin'  no  good  'ere!  " 
It  was  so  deadly  true  that  I  couldn't  answer  back, 
and  there  wasn't  an  expensive  cab  handy  to  prove 
my  virtue  and  respectability.  Next  time  I  visit 
the  Lea  and  Chertsey  Affabilities  I'll  find  out 
soraething  about  trains.  Meantime  I  keep  holi- 
day dolefully.  There  is  not  anybody  to  play  with 
me.  They  have  all  gone  away  to  their  own  places. 
Even  the  Infant,  who  is  generally  the  idlest  man 
in  the  world,  writes  me  that  he  is  helping  to  steer 
a  ten-ton  yacht  in  Scottish  seas.  When  she  heels 
over  too  much  the  Infant  is  driven  to  the  0.  P. 
side  and  she  rights  herself.  The  infant's  host 
says;  *^  Isn't  this  bracing?  Isn't  this  delight- 
ful?" And  the  Infant,  who  lives  in  dread  of  a 
chill  bringing  back  his  Indian  fever,  has  to  say 
**  Ye-es,"  and  pretend  to  despise  overcoats. 
Wallah!    This  is  a  cheerful  world. 

EUDYARD    KjPLING. 


THE  ADORATION  OF  THE  MAGE 

rriHIS  is  a  slim,  thin  little  story,  but  it  serves 
to  explain  a  great  many  things.  I  picked 
it  up  in  a  four-wheeler  in  the  company  of  an 
eminent  novelist,  a  pink-eyed  young  gentleman 
who  lived  on  his  income,  and  a  gentleman  who 
knew  more  than  he  ought;  and  I  preserved  it, 
thinking  it  would  serve  to  interest  you.  It  may 
be  an  old  story,  but  the  G.W.K.T.H.O.,  whom,  for 
the  sake  of  brevity,  we  will  call  Captain  Kydd,  de- 
clared that  his  best  friend  had  heard  it  himself. 
Consequently,  I  doubted  its  newness  more  than 
ever.  For  when  a  man  raises  his  voice  and  vows 
that  the  incident  occurred  opposite  his  own  Club 
window,  all  the  listening  world  know  that  they 
are  about  to  hear  what  is  vulgarly  called  a  cracker. 
This  rule  holds  good  in  London  as  well  as  in 
Lahore.  When  we  left  the  house  of  the  highly 
distinguished  politician  who  had  been  entertaining 
us,  we  stepped  into  a  London  Particular,  which 
has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  story,  but  was 
336 


THE  ADOEATION  OF  THE  MAGE   227 

interesting  from  the  little  fact  that  we  could  not 
see  our  hands  before  our  faces.  The  black,  brutal 
fog  had  turned  each  gas-jet  into  a  pin-prick  of 
light,  visible  only  at  six  inches'  range.  There 
were  no  houses,  there  were  no  pavements.  There 
were  no  points  of  the  compass.  There  were  only 
the  eminent  novelist,  the  young  gentleman  with 
the  pink  eyes,  Captain  Kydd  and  myself,  holding 
each  other's  shoulders  in  the  gloom  of  Tophet. 
Then  the  eminent  novelist  delivered  himself  of  an 
epigram. 

**  Let's  go  home,"  said  he. 

**  Let  us  try,"  said  Captain  Kydd,  and  inconti- 
nently fell  down  an  area  into  somebody's  kitchen 
yard  and  disappeared  into  chaos.  When  he  had 
climbed  out  again  we  heard  a  something  on  wheels 
swearing  even  worse  than  Captain  Kydd  was,  all 
among  the  railings  of  a  square.  So  we  shouted, 
and  presently  a  four-wheeler  drove  gracefully  on 
to  the  pavement. 

**  I'm  trying  to  get  'ome,"  said  the  cabby. 
*  *  But  if  you  gents  make  it  worth  while  .  .  .  though 
heaven  knows  'ow  we  ever  shall.  Guess  'arf  a 
crown  apiece  might  .  .  .  and  any'ow  I  won't 
promise  anywheres  in  particular." 


228  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

The  cabby  kept  his  word  nobly.  He  did  not 
find  anywheres  in  particular,  but  he  found  several 
places.  First  he  discovered  a  pavement  kerb  and 
drove  pressing  his  wheel  against  it  till  we  came 
to  a  lamp-post,  and  that  we  hit  grievously.  Then 
he  came  to  what  ought  to  have  been  a  corner, 
but  was  a  'bus,  and  we  embraced  the  thing  amid 
terrific  language.  Then  he  sailed  out  into  nothing 
at  all — ^blank  fog — and  there  he  commended  him- 
self to  heaven  and  his  horse  to  the  other  place, 
while  the  eminent  novelist  put  his  head  out  of 
the  window  and  gave  directions.  I  begin  to  un- 
derstand now  why  the  eminent  novelist's  villains 
are  so  lifelike  and  his  plots  so  obscure.  He  has 
a  marvellous  breadth  of  speech,  but  no  ingenuity 
in  directing  the  course  of  events.  We  drove  into 
the  island  of  refuge  near  the  Brompton  Oratory 
just  when  he  was  telling  the  cabby  to  be  sure  and 
avoid  the  Regents'  Park  Canal. 

Then  we  began  to  talk  about  the  weather  and 
Mister  Gladstone.  If  an  Englishman  is  unhappy 
he  always  talks  about  Mister  Gladstone  in  terms 
of  reproof.  The  eminent  novelist  was  a  socialistic- 
Neo-Plastic-Unionistic-Demagoglot  Radical  of  the 
Extreme  Left,  and  that  is  the  latest  novelty  of  the 


THE  ADOBATION  OF  THE  MAGE   229 

thing  yet  invented.  He  withdrew  his  head  to 
answer  Captain  Kydd's  arguments,  which  were 
forcible.  ^^  Well,  you'll  admit  he's  all  sorts  of 
a  madman,''  said  Captain  Kydd  sweetly. 

**  He's  a  saint,"  said  the  eminent  novelist, 
**  and  he  moves  in  an  atmosphere  that  you  and 
those  like  you  cannot  breathe." 

**  Yes,  I  always  said  it  was  a  pretty  thick  fog. 
Now  I  know  it's  as  thick  as  this  one.  I  say,  we're 
on  the  pavement  again;  we  shall  be  in  a  shop 
in  a  minute,"  said  Captain  Kydd. 

But  I  wanted  to"  see  the  eminent  novelist  fight, 
so  I  reintroduced  Mister  Gladstone  while  the  cab 
crawled  up  a  wall. 

'*  It's  not  exactly  a  wholesome  atmosphere," 
said  Captain  Kydd  when  the  novelist  had  finished 
speaking.  **  That  reminds  me  of  a  story — per- 
fectly true  story.  In  the  old  days,  before  he  went 
off  his  chump " 

**  Yah-h-h!  "  said  the  eminent  novelist,  wrap- 
ping himself  in  his  Inverness. 

** — ^went  off  his  nut,  he  used  to  consort  a  good 
deal  with  his  friends  on  his  own  side — ^visit  'em, 
y'  know,  and  deliver  addresses  out  of  their  own 
bedroom  windows,  and  steal  their  postcards,  and 


230  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

generally  be  friendly.  Well,  one  man  he  stayed 
with  had  a  house,  a  country  house,  y'  know,  and 
in  the  garden  there  was  a  path  which  was  supposed 
to  divide  Kent  and  Surrey  or  some  counties.  They 
led  the  old  man  forth  for  his  walk,  y'  know,  and 
followed  him  in  gangs  to  hear  that  the  weather 
was  fine,  and  of  course  his  host  pointed  out  the 
path.  I  daresay  they  had  strewn  rose-leaves  on  it, 
or  spread  it  with  homespun  trousers.  Anyhow, 
the  old  man  took  in  the  situation,  and  put 
one  leg  on  one  side  of  the  path  and  the  other 
on  the  other,  and  with  one  of  those  wonderful 
flashes  of  humour  that  come  to  him  when  he 
chooses  to  frisk  among  his  friends,  he  said : '  Now 
I  am  in  Kent  and  in  Surrey  at  the  same  time/  '^ 

Captain  Kydd  ceased  speaking  as  the  cab  tried 
to  force  a  way  into  the  South  Kensington  Museum. 

^*  Well,  what's  there  in  that?  ''  said  the  eminent 
novelist. 

*'  Oh,  nothing  much.  Let's  see  how  it  goes 
afterwards.  Mrs.  Gladstone,  who  was  close  be- 
hind him,  turned  round  and  whispered  to  the 
hostess  in  an  ecstatic  shriek : '  Oh,  Mrs.  Whatever- 
hernamewas,  you  will  plant  a  tree  there,  won't 
you?  '  " 


THE  ADORATION  OF  THE  MAGE    231 

**  By  Jove!  *'  said  the  young  gentleman  with 
the  pink  eyes. 

^*  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  the  eminent  novelist. 

I  said  nothing,  but  it  seemed  very  likely.  Cap- 
tain Kydd  laughed:  **  Well,  I  don't  consider  that 
sort  of  atmosphere  exactly  wholesome,  y'  know." 

And  when  the  cab  had  landed  us  in  the  drinking- 
f ountain  in  High  Street,  Kensington,  and  the  horse 
fell  down,  and  the  cabby  collected  our  half-crowns 
and  gave  us  his  beery  blessing,  and  I  had  to  grope 
my  way  home  on  foot,  it  occurred  to  me  that 
perhaps  you  might  be  interested  in  that  anecdote. 
As  I  have  said,  it  explains  a  great  deal  more  than 
appears  at  first  sight. 


A  DEATH  IN  THE  CAMP 

nn WO  awful  catastrophes  have  occurred.  One 
-■■  Englishman  in  London  is  dead,  and  I  have 
scandalised  about  twenty  of  his  nearest  and  dear- 
est friends. 

He  was  a  man  nearly  seventy  years  old,  en- 
gaged in  the  business  of  an  architect,  and  im- 
mensely respected.  That  was  all  I  knew  about 
him  till  I  began  to  circulate  among  his  friends  in 
these  parts,  trying  to  cheer  them  up  and  make 
them  forget  the  fog. 

**  Hush!  "  said  a  man  and  his  wife.  **  Don't 
you  know  he  died  yesterday  of  a  sudden  attack 
of  pneumonia?     Isn't  it  shocking?  '' 

**  Yes,"  said  I  vaguely.  **  Aw'fly  shocking. 
Has  he  left  his  wife  provided  for?  " 

**  Oh,  he's  very  well  off  indeed,  and  his  wife  is 
quite  old.  But  just  think — ^it  was  only  in  the 
next  street  it  happened!  "  Then  I  saw  that  their 
grief  was  not  for  Strangeways,  deceased,  but  for 
themselves. 


A  DEATH  IN  THE  CAMP  233 

**  How  old  was  he?  ''  I  said. 

**  Nearly  seventy,  or  maybe  a  little  over.'' 

**  About  time  for  a  man  to  rationally  expect 
such  a  thing  as  death/'  I  thought,  and  went  away 
to  another  house,  where  a  young  married  couple 
lived. 

''  Isn't  it  perfectly  ghastly?  "  said  the  wife. 
'*  Mr.  Strangeways  died  last  night." 

*^  So  I  heard,"  said  I.  ''  Well,  he  had  lived 
his  life." 

*  *  Yes,  but  it  was  such  a  shockingly  short  illness. 
"Why,  only  three  weeks  ago  he  was  walking  about 
the  street."  And  she  looked  nervously  at  her 
husband,  as  though  she  expected  him  to  give  up 
the  ghost  at  any  minute. 

Then  I  gathered,  with  the  knowledge  of  the 
length  of  his  sickness,  that  her  grief  was  not  for 
the  late  Mr.  Strangeways,  and  went  away  thinking 
over  men  and  women  I  had  known  who  would 
have  given  a  thousand  years  in  Purgatory  for 
even  a  week  wherein  to  arrange  their  affairs,  and 
who  were  anything  but  well  off. 

I  passed  on  to  a  third  house  full  of  children, 
and  the  shadow  of  death  hung  over  their  heads, 
for   father    and   mother   were   talking   of    Mr. 


234  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

Strangeways'  ^^  end."  **  Most  shocking,"  said 
they.  **  It  seems  that  his  wife  was  in  the  next 
room  when  he  was  dying,  and  his  only  son  called 
her,  so  she  just  had  time  to  take  him  in  her  arms 
before  he  died.  He  was  unconscious  at  the  last. 
Wasn't  it  awful?  " 

When  I  went  away  from  that  house  I  thought 
of  men  and  women  without  a  week  wherein  to 
arrange  their  affairs,  and  without  any  money, 
who  were  anything  but  unconscious  at  the  last, 
and  who  would  have  given  a  thousand  years  in 
Purgatory  for  one  glimpse  at  their  mothers,  their 
wives  or  their  husbands.  I  reflected  how  these 
people  died  tended  by  hirelings  and  strangers, 
and  I  was  not  in  the  least  ashamed  to  say  that 
I  laughed  over  Mr.  Strangeways'  death  as  I  .en- 
tered the  house  of  a  brother  in  his  craft. 

**  Heard  of  Strangeways'  death?  "  said  he. 
**  Most  hideous  thing.  Why,  he  had  only  a  few 
days  before  got  news  of  his  designs  being  ac- 
cepted by  the  Burgoyne  Cathedral.  If  he  had 
lived  he  would  have  been  working  out  the  details 
now — ^with  me."  And  I  saw  that  this  man's  fear 
also  was  not  on  account  of  Mr.  Strangeways.  And 
I  thought  of  men  and  women  who  had  died  in 


A  DEATH  IN  THE  CAMP  235 

the  midst  of'  wrecked  work ;  then  I  sought  a  com- 
pany of  young  men  and  heard  them  talk  of  the 
dead.  ^^  That's  the  second  death  among  people 
I  know  within  the  year,''  said  one.  **  Yes,  the 
second  death,"  said  another. 

I  smiled  a  very  large  smile. 

**  And  you  know,"  said  a  third,  who  was  the 
oldest  of  the  party,  ^*  they've  opened  the  new  road 
by  the  head  of  Tresillion  Koad,  and  the  wind 
blows  straight  across  that  level  square  from  the 
Parks.     Everything  is  changing  about  us." 

**  He  was  an  old  man,"  I  said, 

**  Ye-es.     More  than  middle-aged,"  said  they. 

**  And  he  outlived  his  reputation?  " 

**  Oh,  no,  or  how  would  he  have  taken  the  de- 
signs for  the  Burgoyne  Cathedral?  Why,  the 
very  day  he  died  .    .    . " 

**Yes,"  said  I.  **  He  died  at  the  end  of  a 
completed  work — ^his  design  finished,  his  prize 
awarded?  " 

''  Yes;  but  he  didn't  live  to  ..." 

*^  And  his  illness  lasted  seventeen  days,  of 
twenty-four  hours  each?  " 

**  Yes." 

**  And  he  was  tended  by  his  own  kith  and  kin, 


236  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

dying  with  his  head  on  his  wife's  breast,  his 
hand  in  his  only  son's  hand,  without  any  thought 
of  their  possible  poverty  to  vex  him.  Are  these 
things  so?  " 
''  Ye-es,"  said  they.  **  Wasn't  it  shocking?  " 
''  Shocking?  "  I  said.  ''  Get  out  of  this  place. 
Go  forth,  run  about  and  see  what  death  really 
means.  You  have  described  such  dying  as  a  god 
might  envy  and  a  king  might  pay  half  his  ransom 
to  make  certain  of.  Wait  till  you  have  seen  men — 
strong  men  of  thirty-five,  with  little  children,  die 
at  two  days'  notice,  penniless  and  alone,  and  seen 
it  not  once,  but  twenty  times;  wait  till  you  have 
seen  the  young  girl  die  within  a  fortnight  of  the 
wedding;  or  the  lover  within  three  days  of  his 
marriage;  or  the  mother — sixty  little  minutes — 
before  her  son  can  come  to  her  side ;  wait  till  you 
hesitate  before  handling  your  daily  newspaper 
for  fear  of  reading  of  the  death  of  some  young 
man  that  you  have  dined  with,  drank  with,  shot 
with,  lent  money  to  and  borrowed  money  from, 
and  tested  to  the  uttermost — till  you  dare  not  hope 
for  the  death  of  an  old  man,  but,  when  you  are 
strongest,  count  up  the  tale  of  your  acquaintances 
and  friends,  wondering  how  many  will  be  alive 


A  DEATH  IN  THE  CAMP  237 

six  months  hence.  Wait  till  you  have  heard  men 
calling  in  the  death  hour  on  kin  that  cannot  come ; 
till  you  have  dined  with  a  man  one  night  and  seen 
him  buried  on  the  next.  Then  you  can  begin 
to  whimper  about  loneliness  and  change  and  deso- 
lation.''   Here  I  foamed  at  the  mouth. 

'^  And  do  you  mean  to  say,''  drawled  a  young 
gentleman,  **  that  there  is  any  society  in  which 
that  sort  of  holocaust  goes  on?  " 

^^  do,"  said  I.  **  It's  not  society;  it's  life." 
And  they  laughed. 

But  this  is  the  old  tale  of  Pharaoh's  chariot- 
wheel  and  flying-fish. 

If  I  tell  them  yarns,  they  say:  **  How  true! 
How  true!  "  If  I  try  to  present  the  truth,  they 
say:  **  What  superb  imagination!  " 

But  you  understand,  don't  you? 


A  REALLY  GOOD  TIME 

npHERE  are  times  when  one  wants  to  get  itito 
-■'  pyjamas  and  stretch  and  loll,  and  explain 
things  generally.  This  is  one  of  those  times. 
It  is  impossible  to  stand  at  ease  in  London,  and 
the  inhabitants  are  so  abominably  egotistical  that 
one  cannot  shout  ^*I,  I,  I  ^'  for  two  minutes  with- 
out another  man  joining  in  with  **  Me,  too!'* 
Which  things  are  an  allegory. 

The  amusement  began  with  a  gentleman  of  in- 
finite erudition  offering  to  publish  my  autobiog- 
raphy. I  was  to  "v^rite  a  string  of  legends — he 
would  publish  them;  and  would  I  forward  a 
cheque  for  five  guineas  ''  to  cover  incidental  ex- 
penses '*?  To  him  I  explained  that  I  wanted  five 
guinea  cheques  myself  very  much  indeed,  and  that, 
emboldened  by  his  letter,  which  gave  me  a  very 
fair  insight  into  his  character,  I  was  even  then 
maturing  his  autobiography,  which  I  hoped  to  pub- 
lish before  long  with  illustrations,  and  would  he  for- 
ward a  cheque  for  five  guineas  **  to  cover  inciden- 


A  EEALLY  GOOD  TIME  239 

tal  expenses  ''?  This  brought  me  an  eight-page 
compilation  of  contumely.  He  was  grieved  to 
find  that  he  had  been  mistaken  in  my  character, 
which  he  had  believed  was,  at  least,  elevated.  He 
begged  me  to  remember  that  the  first  letter  had 
been  written  in  the  strictest  confidence,  and  that 
if  I  notated  one  tittle  of  the  said  ^^  repository  '* 
he  would  unkennel  the  bloodhounds  of  the  law  and 
hunt  me  down.  An  autobiography  on  the  lines 
that  I  had  **  so  flippantly  proposed  "  was  libel 
without  benefit  of  authorship,  and  I  had  better 
lend  him  two  guineas — I.O.U.  enclosed — to  salve 
his  lacerated  feelings.  I  replied  that  I  had  his 
autobiography  by  me  in  manuscript,  and  would 
post  it  to  his  address,  V.P.P.,  two  gineas  and  one- 
half.  He  evidently  knew  nothing  about  the 
V.P.P.,  and  the  correspondence  stopped.  It  is 
really  very  hard  for  an  Anglo-Indian  to  get  along 
in  London.  Besides,  my  autobiography  is  not  a 
thing  I  should  care  to  make  public  before  extensive 
Bowdlerisation. 

These  things,  however,  only  led  up  to  much 
worse.  I  dare  not  grin  over  them  unless  I  step 
aside  Eastward.  I  wrote  stories,  all  about  little 
pieces  of  India,  carefully  arranged  and  expurgated 


240  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

for  the  English  public.  Then  various  people 
began  to  write  about  them.  One  gentleman 
pointed  out  that  I  had  taken  *^  the  well-worn 
themes  of  passion,  love,  despair  and  fate/'  and, 
thanks  to  the  ^^  singular  fascination  ''  of  my  style, 
had  *  *  wrought  them  into  new  and  glowing  fab  ricks 
instinct  with  the  eternal  vitality  of  the  East.'' 
For  three  days  after  this  chit  I  was  almost  too 
proud  to  speak  to  the  housemaid  with  the  fan- 
teeth  (there  is  a  story  about  her  that  I  will  tell 
another  time).  On  the  fourth  day  another  gentle- 
man made  clear  that  that  beautiful  style  was 
*^  tortuous,  elaborated  and  inept,"  and  it  was 
only  on  account  of  the  ^^  newness  of  the  subjects 
handled  so  crabbedly  ' '  that  I  ^  *  arrested  the  atten- 
tion of  the  public  for  a  day. ' '  Then  I  wept  before 
the  housemaid,  and  she  called  me  a  **  real  gentle- 
man ' '  because  I  gave  her  a  shilling. 

Then  I  tried  an  all-round  cannon — ^published 
one  thing  under  one  name  and  another  under  an- 
other, and  sat  still  to  watch.  A  gentleman,  who 
also  speaks  with  authority  on  Literature  and  Art, 
came  to  me  and  said:  **  I  don't  deny  that  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  clever  and  superficial  fooling  in 
that  last  thing  of  yours  in  the — ^IVe  forgotten 


A  REALLY  GOOD  TIME  241 

what  it  was  called — but  do  you  yourself  think  that 
you  have  that  curious,  subtle  grip  on  and  instinct 
of  matters  Oriental  that  that  other  man  shows  in 
his  study  of  native  life?  ''  And  he  mentioned 
the  name  of  my  Other  Self.  I  bowed  my  head, 
and  my  shoulders  shook  with  repentance  and  grief. 
^  ^  No, ' '  said  I.  * '  It 's  so  true, ' '  said  he.  ' '  Yes, ' ' 
said  I.  **  So  feeling,''  said  he.  ^*  Indeed  it  is," 
said  I.  ""  Such  honest  work,  too !  ''  said  he.  '*  Oh, 
awful!  ''  said  I.  ''  Think  it  over,"  said  he, ''  and 
try  to  follow  his  path."  "  I  will,"  said  L  And 
when  he  left  I  danced  sarabands  with  the  house- 
maid of  the  fan-teeth  till  she  wanted  to  know 
whether  I  had  bought  **  spirruts." 

Then  another  man  came  along  and  sat  on  my 
sofa  and  hailed  me  as  a  brother.  ^'  And  I  know 
that  we  are  kindred  souls,"  said  he,  **  because  I 
feel  sure  that  you  have  evolved  all  the  dreamy 
mystery  and  curious  brutality  of  the  British  sol- 
dier from  the  pure  realm  of  fancy."  '^  I  did," 
I  said.  ''  If  you  went  into  a  barrack-room  you 
would  see  at  once. "  *  *  Faugh ! ' '  said  he.  '  *  What 
have  we  to  do  with  barrack-rooms!  The  pure 
air  of  fancy  feeds  us  both;  keep  to  that.  If  you 
are  trammelled  by  the  bitter,  hornee  truth,  you  are 


242  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

lost.  You  die  the  death  of  Zola.  Invention  is 
the  only  test  of  creation.''  *^  Of  course,"  said  I. 
*'  Zola's  a  bold,  bad  man.  Not  a  patch  on  you." 
I  hadn't  caught  his  name,  but  I  fancied  that  would 
prevent  him  flinging  himself  about  on  my  sofa, 
which  is  a  cheap  one.  ^*  I  don't  say  that  alto- 
gether," he  said.  ''  He  has  his  strong  points. 
But  he  is  deficient  in  imaginative  constructiveness. 
YoUj  I  see  from  what  you  have  said,  will  belong  to 
the  Neo-Gynekalistic  school."  I  knew  ^'  Gyne  " 
meant  something  about  cow-killing,  and  was  pre- 
pared to  hedge  when  he  said  good-bye,  and  wrote 
an  article  about  my  ways  and  works,  which 
brought  another  man  to  my  door  spouting 
foam. 

**  Great  Landor's  ghost!  "  he  said.  **  What 
under  the  stars  has  possessed  you  to  join  the 
Gynekalistic  lot?  "  *^  I  haven't,"  I  said.  ''  I 
believe  in  municipal  regulation  of  slaughter- 
houses, if  there  is  a  strong  Deputy  Commissioner 
to  control  the  Muhammadan  butchers,  especially 
in  the  hot  weather,  but ..."  *'  This  is  madness," 
said  he.  '^  Your  reputation  is  at  stake.  You 
must  make  it  clear  to  the  world  that  you  have 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  flatulent,  un- 


A  EEALLY  GOOD  TIME  243 

ballasted  fiction  of  .  .  /'  ''Do  you  suppose  the 
world  cares  a  tuppeny  dam?  ''  said  I. 

Then  he  raged  afresh,  and  left  me,  pointing  out 
that  the  Gynewallahs  wrote  about  nothing  but 
women — ^which  seems  rather  an  unlimited  subject 
— and  that  I  would  die  the  death  of  a  French 
author  whose  name  I  have  forgotten.  But  it 
wasn't  Zola  this  time. 

I  asked  the  housemaid  what  in  the  world  the 
Gynekalisthenics  were.  *'  La,  sir,"  said  she,  ''it's 
only  their  way  of  being  rude.  That  fat  gentle- 
man with  the  long  hair  tried  to  kiss  me  when  I 
opened  the  door.  I  slapped  his  fat  chops  for 
him." 

Now  the  crisis  is  at  its  height.  All  the  entire 
round  world,  composed,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  of 
the  Gynekalistic  and  the  anti-Gynekalistic  man, 
and  two  or  three  loafers,  are  trying  to  find  out 
to  what  school  I  rightly  belong.  They  seem  to 
use  what  they  are  pleased  to  call  my  reputation 
as  a  bolster  through  which  to  stab  at  the  foe.  One 
gentleman  is  proving  that  I  am  a  bit  of  a  black- 
guard, probably  reduced  from  the  ranks,  rather 
an  impostor,  and  a  considerable  amount  of  plagia- 
rist.    The  other  man  denies  the  reduction  from 


244  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

the  ranks,  withholds  judgment  about  the  plagia- 
rism, but  would  like,  in  the  interest  of  the  public 
— ^who  are  at  present  exclusively  occupied  with 
Barnum— to  prove  it  true,  and  is  convinced  that 
my  style  is  *^  hermaphroditic.''  I  have  all  the 
money  on  the  first  man.  He  is  on  the  eve  of  dis- 
covering that  I  stole  a  dead  Tommy's  diary  just 
before  I  was  drummed  out  of  the  service  for  deser- 
tion, and  have  lived  on  the  proceeds  ever  since. 
*^  Do  yew  know,"  as  the  Private  Secretary  said 
at  Simla  this  year,  *'  it's  remarkably  hard  for  an 
Anglo-Indian  to  get  along  in  England." 
Shakl  hai  lekin  ukl  naJiin  hai! 


ON  EXHIBITION 

TT  makes  me  blush  pink  all  over  to  think  about 
it,  but,  none  the  less,  I  have  brought  the  tale 
to  you,  confident  that  you  will  understand.  An 
invitation  to  tea  arrived  at  my  address.  The  Eng- 
lish are  very  peculiar  people  about  their  tea. 
They  don't  seem  to  understand  that  it  is  a  func- 
tion at  which  any  one  who  is  passing  down  the 
Mall  may  present  himself.  They  issue  formal 
cards — just  as  if  tea-drinking  were  like  dancing. 
My  invitation  said  that  I  was  to  tea  from  4 :30  till 
6  p.  M.,  and  there  was  never  a  word  of  lawn-tennis 
on  the  whole  of  the  card.  I  knew  the  English 
were  heavy  eaters,  but  this  amazed  me.  *  *  What 
in  the  wide  world,''  thought  I,  ^*  will  they  find  to 
do  for  an  hour  and  a  half?  Perhaps  they'll  play 
games,  as  it's  near  Christmas  time.  They  can't 
sit  out  in  the  verandah,  and  chdbutras  are  im- 
possible." 

Wherefore  I  went  to  this  house  prepared  for 
anything.     There  was  a  fine  show  of  damp  wraps 

245 


246  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

in  the  hall,  and  a  cheerful  babble  of  voices  from 
the  other  side  of  the  drawing-room  door.  The 
hostess  ran  at  me,  vehemently  shouting:  **  Oh, 
I  am  so  glad  you  have  come.  We  were  all  talking 
about  you. ' '  As  the  room  was  entirely  filled  with 
strangers,  chiefly  female,  I  reflected  that  they 
couldn't  have  said  anything  very  bad.  Then  I 
was  introduced  to  everybody,  and  some  of  the 
people  were  talking  in  couples,  and  didn't  want 
to  be  interrupted  in  the  least,  and  some  were 
behind  settees,  and  some  were  in  difficulty  with 
their  tea-cups,  and  one  and  all  had  exactly  the  same 
name.     That  is  the  worst  of  a  lisping  hostess. 

Almost  before  I  had  dropped  the  last  limp  hand, 
a  burly  ruffian,  with  a  beard,  rumbled  in  my  ear : 
**  I  trust  you  were  satisfied  with  my  estimate  of 
your  powers  in  last  week's  Concertina  ^  '* 

Now  I  don't  see  the  Concertina  because  it's  too 
expensive,  but  I  murmured :  *'  Immense !  immense ! 
Most  gratifying.  Totally  undeserved."  And  the 
ruffian  said:  *^  Id  a  measure,  yes.  Not  wholly. 
I  flatter  myself  that " 

**  Oh,  not  in  the  least,"  said  I.  "No  sugar, 
thanks."  This  to  the  hostess,  who  was  waving 
Sally  Lunns  under  my  nose.    A  female,  who  could 


ON  EXHIBITION  247 

lot  have  been  less  than  seven  feet  high,  came  on, 
lalf  speed  ahead,  through  the  fog  of  the  tea- 
jteam,  and  docked  herself  on  the  sofa  just  like  an 
[nmam  liner. 

*^  Have  you  ever  considered,''  said  she,  **  the 
mormons  moral  responsibility  that  rests  in  the 
lands  of  one  who  has  the  gift  of  literary  expres- 
;ion?  In  my  own  case — but  you  surely  know  my 
collaborator. ' ' 

A  much  huger  woman  arrived,  cast  anchor,  and 
locked  herself  on  the  other  side  of  the  sofa.  She 
vas  the  collaborator.  Together  they  confided  to 
ne  that  they  were  desperately  in  earnest  about 
he  amelioration  of  something  or  other.  Their 
joUective  grievance  against  me  was  that  I  was 
lot  in  earnest. 

**  We  have  studied  your  works — all,''  said  the 
ive-thousand-ton  four-master,  ^^  and  we  cannot 
)elieve  that  you  are  in  earnest."  *^  Oh,  no,"  I 
laid  hastily,  **  I  never  was."  Then  I  saw  that 
hat  was  the  wrong  thing  to  say,  for  the  eight- 
;housand-ton  palace  Cunarder  signalled  to  the 
jister  ship,  saying:  **  You  see,  my  estimate  was 
sorrect." 

*'  Now,  my  complaint  against  him  is  that  he 


248  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

is  too  savagely  farouche/ \  said  a  weedy  young 
gentleman  with  tow  hair,  who  ate  Sally  Lunns  like 
a  workhouse  orphan.  ^^  Faroucherie  in  his  age 
is  a  fatal  mistake." 

I  reflected  a  moment  on  the  possibility  of  get- 
•  ting  that  young  gentleman  out  into  a  large  and 
dusty  maidan  and  gently  chukkering  him  before 
chota  hazri.  He  looked  too  sleek  to  me  as  he  then 
stood.  But  I  said  nothing,  because  a  tiny-tiny 
woman  with  beady-black  eyes  shrilled:  *^  I  dis- 
agree with  you  entirely.  He  is  too  much  bound 
by  the  tradition  of  the  commonplace.  I  have  seen 
in  his  later  work  signs  that  he  is  afraid  of  his 
public.  You  must  never  be  afraid  of  your 
public." 

Then  they  began  to  discuss  me  as  though  I  were 
dead  and  buried  under  the  hearth-rug,  and  they 
talked  of  **  tones  "  and  **  notes  "  and  **  lights  " 
and  **  shades  "  and  tendencies. 

**  And  which  of  us  do  you  think  is  correct  in 
her  estimate  of  your  character?  "  said  the  tiny- 
tiny  woman  when  they  had  made  me  out  (a)  a 
giddy  Lothario ;  (b)  a  savage;  (c)  a  pre-Raf aelite 
angel;  (d)  co-equal  and  co-eternal  with  half  a 
dozen  gentlemen  whose  names  I  had  never  heard; 


ON  EXHIBITION  249 

e)  flippant;  (f)  penetrated  with  pathos;  (g)  an 
ipen  atheist ;  (h)  a  young  man  of  the  Eoman  Cath- 
►lic  faith  with  a  mission  in  life. 
I  smiled  idiotically,  and  said  I  really  didn't 

JIOW. 

Then  a  man  entered  whom  I  knew,  and  I  fled 
0  him  for  comfort.  **  Have  I  missed  the  fun?  " 
le  asked  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

I  explained,  snorting,  what  had  befallen. 

**  Ay,''  said  he  quietly,  **  you  didn't  go  the  right 
ray  to  work.  You  should  have  stood  on  the 
learth-rug  and  fired  off  epigrams.  That's  what 
'.  did  after  I  had  written  Down  in  the  Doldrums, 
Lud  was  fed  with  crumpets  in  consequence." 

A  woman  plumped  down  by  my  side  and  twisted 
ler  hands  into  knots,  and  hung  her  eyes  over  her 
iheek-bones.  I  thought  it  was  too  many  muffins, 
ill  she  said:  ^'  Tell  me,  oh,  tell  me,  was  such-and- 
;uch  in  such  a  one  of  your  books — was  he  reaW 
^as  he  quite  real?  Oh,  how  lovely !  How  sweet ! 
low  precious!  "  She  alluded  to  that  drunken 
•uffian  Mulvaney,  who  would  have  driven  her  into 
its  had  he  ever  set  foot  on  her  doorstep  in  the 
lesh.  I  caught  the  half  of  a  wink  in  my  friend's 
jye  as  he  removed  himself  and  left  me  alone  to 


250  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

tell  fibs  about  the  evolution  of  Private  Mulvaney 
I  said  anytbing  that  came  uppermost,  and  mj 
answers  grew  so  wild  that  the  woman  departed. 

Then  I  heard  the  hostess  whispering  to  a  girl 
a  nice,  round,  healthy  English  maiden.  *  ^  Go  anc 
talk  to  him,''  she  said.  **  Talk  to  him  about  his 
books.'' 

I  gritted  my  teeth,  and  waited  till  the  maider 
was  close  at  hand  and  about  to  begin.  There  was 
a  lovely  young  man  at  the  end  of  the  room  suck 
ing  a  stick,  and  I  felt  sure  that  the  maiden  would 
much  have  preferred  talking  to  him.  She  smiled 
prefatorily. 

^*  It's  hot  here,"  I  said;  **  let's  go  over  to  the 
window  ' ' ;  and  I  plumped  down  on  a  three-seated 
settee,  with  my  back  to  the  young  man,  leaving 
only  one  place  for  the  maiden.  I  was  right.  1 
signalled  up  the  man  who  had  written  Down  in 
the  Doldrums^  and  talked  to  him  as  fast  as  I  kne^ 
how.  When  he  had  to  go,  and  the  young  man 
with  him,  the  maiden  became  enthusiastic,  not  to 
say  gushing.  But  I  knew  that  those  compliments 
were  for  value  received.  Then  she  explained  thai 
she  was  going  out  to  India  to  stay  with  her  mar- 
ried aunt,  wherefore  she  became  as  a  sister  unto 


ON  EXHIBITION  251 

me  on  the  spot.  Her  mamma  did  not  seem  to 
know  much  about  Indian  outfits,  and  I  waxed  elo- 
quent on  the  subject. 

**  It's  all  nonsense,"  I  said,  **  to  fill  your  boxes 
with  things  that  can  be  made  just  as  well  in  the 
country.  What  you  want  are  walking-dresses  and 
dinner-dresses  as  good  as  ever  you  can  get,  and 
gloves  tinned  up,  and  odds  and  ends  of  things 
generally.  All  the  rest,  unless  you're  extrava- 
gant, the  dharzee  can  make  in  the  verandah.  Take 
underclothing,  for  instance."  I  was  conscious 
that  my  loud  and  cheerful  voice  was  ploughing 
through  one  of  those  ghostly  silences  that  some- 
times fall  upon  a  company.  The  English  only 
wear  their  outsides  in  company.  They  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  underclothing.  I  could  feel  that 
without  being  told.  So  the  silence  cut  short  the 
one  matter  in  which  I  could  really  have  been  of 
use. 

On  the  pavement  my  friend  who  wrote  Down  in 
the  Doldrums  was  waiting  to  walk  home  with  me. 
'*  What  in  the  world  does  it  all  mean?  "  I  said. 
^*  Nothing,"  said  he.  **  You've  been  asked  there 
as  a  small  deputy  lion  to  roar  in  place  of  a  much 
bigger  man.    You  growled,  though." 


252  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

**  I  should  have  done  much  worse  if  I'd  known/' 
I  grunted.  ^  *  Ah, ' '  said  he,  *  *  you  haven 't  arrived 
at  the  real  fun  of  the  show.  Wait  till  theyVe 
made  you  jump  through  hoops  and  your  turn's 
over,  and  you  can  sit  on  a  sofa  and  watch  the  new 
men  being  brought  up  and  put  through  their  paces. 
YouVe  nothing  like  that  in  India.  How  do  you 
manage  your  parties  ?  ' ' 

And  I  thought  of  smooth-cut  lawns  in  the  gloam- 
ing, and  tables  spread  under  mighty  trees,  and 
men  and  women,  all  intimately  acquainted  with 
each  other,  strolling  about  in  the  lightest  of  rai- 
ment, and  the  old  dowagers  criticising  the  badmin- 
ton, and  the  young  men  in  riding-boots  making 
rude  remarks  about  the  claret  cup,  and  the  host 
circulating  through  the  mob  and  saying:  **  Hah, 
Pig^?''  or  Bobby  or  Flatnose,  as  the  nickname 
might  be,  '^  have  another  peg,"  and  the  hostess 
soothing  the  bashful  youngsters  and  talking 
khitmatgars  with  the  Judge's  wife,  and  the  last 
new  bride  hanging  on  her  husband's  arm  and  say- 
ing: **  Isn't  it  almost  time  to  go  home,  Dicky, 
dear  I  "  and  the  little  fat  owls  chuckling  in  the 
hougainvilleas,  and  the  horses  stamping  and 
squealing  in  the  carriage-drive,  and  everybody 


ON  EXHIBITION  253 

aying  the  most  awful  things  about  everybody  else, 
lut  prepared  to  do  anything  for  anybody  else  just 
he  same;  and  I  gulped  a  great  gulp  of  sorrow 
tnd  homesickness. 

''  You  wouldn't  understand,"  said  I  to  my 
■riend.  ''Let's  go  to  a  pot-house,  where  cabbies 
jail,  and  drink  something." 


THE  THEEE  YOUNG  MEN 

LONDON  IN  THE  FOG 

^'/^UEIOUSER  and  curiouser,''  as  Alice  in 
^^  Wonderland  said  when  she  found  her  neck 
beginning  to  grow.  Each  day  under  the  smoke 
brings  me  new  and  generally  unpleasant  discov- 
eries. The  latest  are  most  on  my  mind.  I  hasten 
to  transfer  them  to  yours. 

At  first,  and  several  times  afterwards,  I  very 
greatly  desired  to  talk  to  a  thirteen- two  subaltern 
— ^not  because  he  or  I  would  have  anything  valua- 
ble to  say  to  each  other,  but  just  because  he  was 
a  subaltern.  I  wanted  to  know  all  about  that 
evergreen  polo-pony  that  **  can  turn  on  a  six- 
pence," and  the  second-hand  second  charger  that, 
by  a  series  of  perfectly  unprecedented  misfor- 
tunes, just  failed  to  win  the  Calcutta  Derby. 
Then,  too,  I  wished  to  hear  of  many  old  friends 
across  the  sea,  and  who  had  got  his  company,  and 
why  and  where  the  new  Generals  were  going  next 
cold  weather,  and  how  the  Commander-in-Chief 

264 


THE   THEEE   YOUNG  MEN         255 

had  been  enlivening  the  Simla  season.  So  I  looked 
east  and  west,  and  north  and  south,  but  never  a 
thirteen- two  subaltern  broke  through  the  fog;  ex- 
cept once — and  he  had  grown  a  fifteen-one  cot 
down,  and  wore  a  tall  hat  and  frock  coat,  and  was 
begging  for  coppers  from  the  Horse-Guards.  By 
the  way,  if  you  stand  long  enough  between  the 
mounted  sentries — the  men  who  look  like  reflectors 
stolen  from  Christmas  trees — you  will  presently 
meet  every  human  being  you  ever  knew  in  India. 
When  I  am  not  happy — that  is  to  say,  once  a  day 
— I  run  off  and  play  on  the  pavement  in  front 
of  the  Horse-Guards,  and  watch  the  expressions 
on  the  gentlemen's  faces  as  they  come  out.  But 
this  is  a  digression. 

After  some  days — I  grew  lonelier  and  lonelier 
every  hour — I  went  away  to  the  other  end  of 
the  town,  and  catching  a  friend,  said :  '  ^  Lend  me 
a  man — a  young  man — to  play  with.  I  don't  feel 
happy.  I  want  rousing.  I  have  liver."  And 
the  friend  said :  *  ^  Ah,  yes,  of  course.  What  you 
want  is  congenial  society,  something  that  will  stir 
you  up — a  fellow-mind.  Now  let  me  introduce  you 
to  a  thoroughly  nice  young  man.  He's  by  way  of 
being  an  ardent  Neo- Alexandrine,  and  has  written 


256  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

some  charming  papers  on  the  *  Ethics  of  the  Wood 
Pavement.'  "  Concealing  my  almost  visible  rap- 
ture, I  murmured  *^  Oh,  bliss!  "  as  they  used  to 
say  at  the  Gaiety,  and  extended  the  hand  of  friend- 
ship to  a  young  gentleman  attired  after  the 
•fashion  of  the  Neo- Alexandrines,  who  appear  to 
be  a  sub-caste  of  social  priests.  His  hand  was  a 
limp  hand,  his  face  was  very  smooth  because  he 
had  not  yet  had  time  to  grow  any  hair,  and  he 
wore  a  cloak  like  a  policeman's  cloak,  but  much 
more  so.  On  his  finger  was  a  cameo-ring  about 
three  inches  wide,  and  round  his  neck,  the  weather 
being  warm,  was  a  fawn,  olive  and  dead-leaf  com- 
forter of  soft  silk — the  sort  of  thing  any  right- 
minded  man  would  give  to  his  mother  or  his  sister 
without  being  asked. 

We  looked  at  each  other  cautiously  for  some 
minutes.  Then  he  said:  *'  What  do  you  think  of 
the  result  of  the  Brighton  election?  "  **  Beau- 
tiful, beautiful,"  I  said,  watching  his  eye,  which 
saddened.  ^*  One  of  the  worst — that  is,  entirely 
the  most  absurd  reductio  ad  ahsurdum  of  the 
principle  of  the  narrow  and  narrow-minded  ma- 
jority imposing  a  will  which  is  necessarily  incult 
on  a  minority  animated  by  . . ."    I  forget  exactly 


THE   THREE   YOUNG  MEN         257 

what  he  said  they  were  animated  by,  but  it  was 
something  very  fine. 

^'  When  I  was  at  Oxford,"  he  said,  **  Haward 
of  Exeter  " — he  spoke  as  one  speaks  of  Smith  of 

A-sia — **  always  inculcated  at  the  Union By 

the  way,  you  do  not  know,  I  suppose,  anything 
Df  the  life  at  Oxford?  "  **  No,"  I  said,  anxious 
to  propitiate,  ^*  but  I  remember  some  boys  once 
who  seduced  an  ekka  and  a  pony  into  a  Major's 
tent  at  a  camp  of  exercise,  laced  up  the  door,  and 
iet  the  Major  fight  it  out  with  the  horse."  I  told 
that  little  incident  in  my  best  style,  and  was  three 
parts  through  it  before  I  discovered  that  he  was 
looking  pained  and  shocked. 

**  That — ah — was  not  the  side  of  Oxford  that 
[  had  in  mind  when  I  was  saying  that  Haward 

)f  Exeter "     And  he  explained  all  about  Mr. 

Haward,  who  appeared  to  be  a  young  gentleman, 
rising  twenty-three,  of  wonderful  mental  attain- 
nents,  and  as  pernicious  a  prig  as  I  ever  dreamed 
ibout.  Mr.  Haward  had  schemes  for  the  better 
nanagement  of  creation ;  my  friend  told  me  them 
ill — social,  political  and  economical. 

Then,  just  as  I  was  feeling  faint  and  very  much 
n  need  of  a  drink,  he  launched  without  warning 


258  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

upon  the  boundless  seas  of  literature.  He  wished 
to  know  whether  I  had  read  the  works  of  Messrs. 
Guy  de  Maupassant,  Paul  Bourget  and  Pierre 
Loti.  This  in  the  tone  of  a  teacher  of  Euclid. 
I  replied  that  all  my  French  was  confined  to  the 
Vie  Parisienne  and  translations  of  Zola's  novels 
with  illustrations.  Here  we  parted.  London  is 
very  large,  and  I  do  not  think  we  shall  meet  any 
more. 

I  thanked  our  Mutual  Friend  for  his  kindness, 
and  asked  for  another  young  man  to  play  with. 
This  gentleman  was  even  younger  than  the  last, 
but  quite  as  cocksure.  He  told  me  in  the  course 
of  half  a  cigar  that  only  men  of  mediocre  calibre 
went  into  the  army,  which  was  a  brutalising  pro- 
fession; that  he  suffered  from  nerves  and  **  an  un- 
controllable desire  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room 
and  sob  "  (that  was  too  many  cigarettes),  and 
that  he  had  never  set  foot  out  of  England,  but 
knew  all  about  the  world  from  his  own  theories. 
Thought  Dickens  coarse ;  Scott  jingling  and  mere- 
tricious; and  had  not  by  any  chance  read  the 
novels  of  Messrs.  Guy  de  Maupassant,  Paul  Bour- 
get and  Pierre  Loti. 

Him  I  left  quickly,  but  sorry  that  he  could  not 


THE   THEEE   YOUNG  MEN         259 

do  a  six  weeks'  training  with  a  Middlesex  militia 
regiment,  where  he  would  really  get  something  to 
sob  for.  The  novel  business  interested  me.  I 
perceived  that  it  was  a  fashion,  like  his  tie  and 
his  collars,  and  I  wanted  to  work  it  to  the  fountain- 
head.  To  this  end  I  procured  the  whole  Shibbo- 
leth from  Guy  de  Maupassant  even  unto  Pierre 
Loti  by  way  of  Bourget.  Unwholesome  was  a 
mild  term  for  these  interesting  books,  which  the 
young  men  assured  me  that  they  read  for  style. 
When  a  fat  Major  makes  that  remark  in  an  Indian 
Club,  everybody  hoots  and  laughs.  But  you  must 
not  laugh  overseas,  especially  at  young  gentlemen 
who  have  been  to  Oxford  and  listened  to  Mr. 
Haward  of  Exeter. 

Then  I  was  introduced  to  another  young  man 
who  said  he  belonged  to  a  movement  called  Toyn- 
bee  Hall,  where,  I  gathered,  young  gentlemen  took 
an  indecent  interest  in  the  affairs  of  another  caste, 
whom,  with  rare  tact,  they  called  **  the  poor,"  and 
told  them  generally  how  to  order  their  lives.  Such 
was  the  manner  and  general  aggressiveness  of  this 
third  young  gentleman,  that  if  he  had  told  me 
that  coats  were  generally  worn  and  good  for  the 
protection  of  the  body,  I  should  have  paraded 


260  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

Bond  Street  in  my  shirt.  What  the  poor  thought 
of  him  I  conld  not  tell,  but  there  is  no  room  for 
it  in  this  letter.  He  said  that  there  was  going  to 
be  an  upheaval  of  the  classes — the  English  are 
very  funny  about  their  castes.  They  don't  know 
how  to  handle  them  one  little  bit,  and  never  allow 
them  to  draw  water  or  build  huts  in  peace — and 
the  entire  social  fabric  was  about  to  be  remodelled 
on  his  recommendations,  and  the  world  would  be 
generally  altered  past  recognition.  No,  he  had 
never  seen  anything  of  the  world,  but  close  ac- 
quaintance with  authorities  had  enabled  him  to 
form  dispassionate  judgments  on  the  subjects, 
and  had  I,  by  any  chance,  read  the  novels 
of  Guy  de  Maupassant,  Pierre  Loti  and  Paul 
Bourget! 

^  It  was  a  mean  thing  to  do,  but  I  couldn't  help 
it.  I  had  read  'em.  I  put  him  on,  so  to  speak, 
far  back  in  Paul  Bourget,  who  is  a  genial  sort 
of  writer.  I  pinned  him  to  one  book.  He  could 
not  escape  from  Paul  Bourget.  He  was  fed  with 
it  till  he  confessed — and  he  had  been  quite  ready 
to  point  out  its  beauties — ^that  we  could  not  take 
much  interest  in  the  theories  put  forward  in  that 
particular  book.     Then  I  said :  *  *  Get  a  dictionary 


THE   THEEE   YOUNG  MEN         261 

and  read  him/'  which  severed  our  budding  friend- 
ship. 

Thereafter  I  sought  our  Mutual  Friend  and 
walked  up  and  down  his  room  sobbing,  or  words 
to  that  effect.  *  *  Good  gracious !  ' '  said  my  friend. 
**  Is  that  what's  troubling  you?  Now,  I  hold  the 
ravaging  rights  over  half  a  dozen  fields  and  a  bit 
of  a  wood.  You  can  pot  rabbits  there  in  the 
evenings  sometimes,  and  anyway  you  get  exercise. 
Come  along." 

So  I  went.  I  have  not  yet  killed  anything,  but 
it  seems  wasteful  to  drive  good  powder  and  shot 
after  poor  little  bunnies  when  there  are  so  many 
other  things  in  the  world  that  would  be  better 
for  an  ounce  and  a  half  of  number  five  at  sixty 
yards — not  enough  to  disable,  but  just  sufficient 
to  sting,  and  be  pricked  out  with  a  penknife. 

I  should  like  to  wield  that  penknife. 


MY  GREAT  AND  ONLY 

VITHETHER  Macdougal  or  Macdoodle  be  his 
^  ^  name,  the  principle  remains  the  same,  as 
Mrs.  Nickleby  said.  The  gentleman  appeared  to 
hold  authority  in  London,  and  by  virtue  of  his 
position  preached  or  ordained  that  music-halls 
were  vulgar,  if  not  improper.  Subsequently,  I 
gathered  that  the  gentleman  was  inciting  his  as- 
sociates to  shut  up  certain  music-halls  on  the 
ground  of  the  vulgarity  aforesaid,  and  I  saw  with 
my  own  eyes  that  unhappy  little  managers  were 
putting  notices  into  the  corners  of  their  pro- 
grammes begging  the  audience  to  report  each  and 
every  impropriety.  That  was  pitiful,  but  it  ex- 
cited my  interest. 

Now,  to  the  upright  and  impartial  mind — ^which 
is  mine — all  the  diversions  of  Heathendom — ^which 
is  the  British — are  of  equal  ethnological  value. 
And  it  is  true  that  some  human  beings  can  be 
more  vulgar  in  the  act  of  discussing  etchings,  edi- 
tions of  luxury,  or  their  own  emotions,  than  other 

263 


MY  GREAT  AND  ONLY  263 

human  beings  employed  in  swearing  at  each  other 
across  the  street.  Therefore,  following  a  chain 
of  thought  which  does  not  matter,  I  visited  very- 
many  theatres  whose  licenses  had  never  been  inter- 
fered with.  There  I  discovered  men  and  women 
who  lived  and  moved  and  behaved  according  to 
rules  which  in  no  sort  regulate  human  life,  by 
tradition  dead  and  done  with,  and  after  the  cus- 
toms of  the  more  immoral  ancients  and  Barnum. 
At  one  place  the  lodging-house  servant  was  an 
angel,  and  her  mother  a  Madonna;  at  a  second 
they  sounded  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  a  whirl  of 
bloody  axes,  mobs,  and  brown-paper  castles,  and 
said  it  was  not  a  pantomime,  but  Art;  at  a  third 
everybody  grew  fabulously  rich  and  fabulously 
poor  every  twenty  minutes,  which  was  confusing ; 
at  a  fourth  they  discussed  the  Nudities  and  Lewdi- 
ties  in  false-palate  voices  supposed  to  belong  to 
the  aristocracy  and  that  tasted  copper  in  the 
mouth;  at  a  fifth  they  merely  climbed  up  walls 
and  threw  furniture  at  each  other,  which  is  no- 
toriously the  custom  of  spinsters  and  small  par- 
sons. Next  morning  the  papers  would  write 
about  the  progress  of  the  modem  drama  (that 
was  the  silver  paper  pantomime),  and  **  graphic 


264  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

presentment  of  the  realities  of  our  highly  complex 
civilisation. ' '  That  was  the  angel  housemaid.  By 
the  way,  when  an  Englishman  has  been  doing  any- 
thing more  than  unusually  Pagan,  he  generally 
consoles  himself  with*  **  over-civilisation."  .It's 
the  **  martyr-to-nerves-dear  ''  note  in  his  equip- 
ment. 

I  went  to  the  music-halls — ^the  less  frequented 
ones — and  they  were  almost  as  dull  as  the.  plays, 
but  they  introduced  me  to  several  elementary 
truths.  Ladies  and  gentlemen  in  eccentric,  but 
not  altogether  unsightly,  costumes  told  me  (a) 
that  if  I  got  drunk  I  should  have  a  head  next 
morning,  and  perhaps  be  fined  by  the  magistrate ; 
(b)  that  if  I  flirted  promiscuously  I  should  proba- 
bly get  into  trouble;  (c)  that  I  had  better  tell  my 
wife  everything  and  be  good  to  her,  or  she  would 
be  sure  to  find  out  for  herself  and  be  very  bad 
to  me;  (d)  that  I  should  never  lend  money;  or 
(e)  fight  with  a  stranger  whose  form  I  did  not 
know.  My  friends  (if  I  may  be  permitted  to  so 
call  them)  illustrated  these  facts  with  personal 
'  reminiscences  and  drove  them  home  with  kicks  and 
prancings.  At  intervals  circular  ladies  in  pale 
pink  and  white  would  low  to  their  audience  to  the 


MY  GEEAT  AND  ONLY  265 

effect  that  there  was  nothing  half  so  sweet  in 
life  as  ''  Lovers  Young  Dream,''  and  the  billy- 
cock hats  would  look  at  the  four-and-elevenpenny 
bonnets,  and  they  saw  that  it  was  good  and  clasped 
hands  on  the  strength  of  it.  Then  other  ladies 
with  shorter  skirts  would  explain  that  when  their 
husbands 

**  Stagger  home  tight  about  two, 
An'  can't  light  the  candle, 
We  taik  the  broom  'andle 
An'  show  'em  what  women  can  do." 

Naturally,  the  billycocks,  seeing  what  might  be- 
fall, thought  things  over  again,  and  .you  heard 
the  bonnets  murmuring  softly  under  the  clink  of 
the  lager-glasses:  **  Not  me,  Bill.  Not  me!'' 
Now  these  things  are  basic  and  basaltic  truths. 
Anybody  can  understand  them.  They  are  as  old 
as  Time.  Perhaps  the  expression  was  occasion- 
ally what  might  be  called  coarse,  but  beer  is  beer, 
and  best  in  a  pewter,  though  you  can,  if  you 
please,  drink  it  from  Venetian  glass  and  call  it 
something  else.  The  halls  give  wisdom  and  not 
too  lively  entertainment  for  sixpence — ticket  good 
for  four  pen'orth  of  refreshments,  chiefly  inky 


266  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

porter — and  the  people  who  listen  are  respectable 
folk  living  under  very  grey  skies  who  derive  all 
the  light  side  of  their  life,  the  food  for  theii 
imagination  and  the  crystallised  expression  oi 
their  views  on  Fate  and  Nemesis,  from  the  affable 
ladies  and  gentlemen  singers.  They  require  a 
few  green  and  gold  maidens  in  short  skirts  tc 
kick  before  them.  Herein  they  are  no  better  anc 
no  worse  than  folk  who  require  fifty  girls  verj 
much  undressed,  and  a  setting  of  music,  oi 
pictures  that  won't  let  themselves  be  seen  on  ac 
count  of  their  age  and  varnish,  or  statues  anc 
coins.  All  animals  like  salt,  but  some  prefei 
rock-salt,  red  or  black  in  lumps.  But  this  is  i 
digression. 

Out  of  my  many  visits  to  the  hall — ^I  chose  on( 
hall,  you  understand,  and  frequented  it  till  I  coulc 
tell  the  mood  it  was  in  before  I  had  passed  thi 
ticket-poll — ^was  born  the  Great  Idea.  I  servec 
it  as  a  slave  for  seven  days.  Thought  was  no 
sufficient;  experience  was  necessary.  I  patroUec 
"Westminster,  Blackfriars,  Lambeth,  the  Old  Ken 
Eoad,  and  many,  many  more  miles  of  pitiless  pave 
ment  to  make  sure  of  my  subject.  At  even  ' 
drank  my  lager  among  the  billycocks,  and  los 


MY  GEEAT  AND  ONLY  267 

ly  heart  to  a  bonnet.  Goethe  and  Shakespeare 
rere  my  precedents.  I  sympathised  with  them 
cutely,  but  I  got  my  Message.  A  chance-caught 
efrain  of  a  song  which  I  understand  is  protected 
-to  its  maker  I  convey  my  most  grateful  acknowl- 
dgments — gave  me  what  I  sought.  The  rest  was 
lade  up  of  four  elementary  truths,  some  humour, 
nd,  though  I  say  it  who  should  leave  it  to  the 
ress,  pathos  deep  and  genuine.  I  spent  a  penny 
n  a  paper  which  introduced  me  to  a  Great  and 
)n\j  who  **  wanted  new  songs.''  The  people  de- 
ired  them  really.  He  was  their  ambassador,  and 
aught  me  a  great  deal  about  the  property-right 
1  songs,  concluding  with  a  practical  illustration, 
or  he  said  my  verses  were  just  the  thing  and 
nnexed  them.  It  was  long  before  he  could  hit 
n  the  step-dance  which  exactly  elucidated  the 
pirit  of  the  text,  and  longer  before  he  could  jingle 
pair  of  huge  brass  spurs  as  a  dancing-girl  jingles 
er  anklets.  That  was  my  notion,  and  a  good 
ne. 

The  Great  and  Only  possessed  a  voice  like  a 
ull,  and  nightly  roared  to  the  people  at  the  heels 
f  one  who  was  winning  triple  encores  with  a 
riceless  ballad  beginning  deep  down  in  the  bass : 


268  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

**  We  was  shopmates — boozin'  shopmates."  ] 
feared  that  song  as  Eachel  feared  Eistori.  A 
greater  than  I  had  written  it.  It  was  a  grin 
tragedy,  lighted  with  lucid  humour,  wedded  t( 
music  that  maddened.  But  my  **  Great,  anc 
Only  "  had  faith  in  me,  and  I — I  clung  to  the  Grea 
Heart  of  the  People — ^my  people — four  hundrec 
*'  when  it's  all  full,  sir."  I  had  not  studied  then 
for  nothing.  I  must  reserve  the  description  oj 
my  triumph  for  another  ^^  Turnover." 

There  was  no  portent  in  the  sky  on  the  nighi 
of  my  triumph.  A  barrowful  of  onions,  indeed 
upset  itself  at  the  door,  but  that  was  a  coincidence 
The  hall  was  crammed  with  billycocks  waiting  foi 
**  We  was  shopmates."  The  great  heart  beai 
healthily.  I  went  to  my  beer  the  equal  of  Shakes 
peare  and  Moliere  at  the  wings  in  a  first  night 
What  would  my  public  say?  Could  anything  liv( 
after  the  abandon  of  **  We  was  shopmates  "' 
What  if  the  redcoats  did  not  muster  in  their  usua 
strength.  0  my  friends,  never  in  your  songs  anc 
dramas  forget  the  redcoat.  He  has  sympathy  anc 
enormous  boots. 

I  believed  in  the  redcoat;  in  the  great  hearl 
of  the  people :  above  all  in  myself.    The  conductor 


MY  GREAT  AND  ONLY  269 

rho  advertised  that  he  **  doctored  bad  songs/' 
ad  devised  a  pleasant  little  lilting  air  for  my 
eeds,  but  it  struck  me  as  weak  and  thin  after 
bte  thunderous  surge  of  the  ^'  Shopmates."  I 
lanced  at  the  gallery — the  redcoats  were  there, 
'he  fiddle-bows  creaked,  and,  with  a  jingle  of 
razen  spurs,  a  forage-cap  over  his  left  eye,  my 
rreat  and  Only  began  to  **  chuck  it  off  his  chest/' 
rhus: 

**  At  the  back  o'  the  Knightsbridge  Barricks, 
When  the  fog  was  a-gatherin'  dim, 
The  Lifeguard  talked  to  the  Undercook, 
An'  the  girl  she  talked  to  'im." 

''  Twiddle-iddle'iddle-lum4um4um!  "  said  the 
iolins. 

''  Ling-a-Ung-a-ling-a-ling-Ung-ling!  "  said  the 
purs  of  the  Great  and  Only,  and  through  the  roar 
1  my  ears  I  fancied  I  could  catch  a  responsive 
oofbeat  in  the  gallery.  The  next  four  lines  held 
le  house  to  attention.  Then  came  the  chorus 
nd  the  borrowed  refrain.  It  took — it  went  home 
ith  a  crisp  click.  My  Great  and  Only  saw  his 
iiance.  Superbly  waving  his  hand  to  embrace  the 
^hole  audience,  he  invited  them  to  join  in : 


270  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL' 

**  You  may  make  a  mistake  when  you're  mashing 
a  tart, 
But  you'll  learn  to  be  wise  when  you're  older, 
And  don't  try  for  things  that  are  out  of  youi 
reach, 
And  that's  what  the  girl  told  the  soldier, 
soldier,  soldier, 
And  that's  what  the  girl  told  the  soldier." 

I  thought  the  gallery  would  never  let  go  of  the 
long-drawn  howl  on  "  soldier."  They  clung  to 
it  as  ringers  to  the  kicking  bell-rope.  Then  I 
envied  no  one — ^not  even  Shakespeare.  I  had  my 
house  hooked — gaffed  under  the  gills,  netted, 
speared,  shot  behind  the  shoulder — anything  you 
please.  That  was  pure  joy!  With  each  verse 
the  chorus  grew  louder,  and  when  my  Great  and 
Only  had  bellowed  his  way  to  the  fall  of  the  Life^ 
guard  and  the  happy  lot  of  the  Undercook,  the 
gallery  rocked  again,  the  reserved  stalls  shouted, 
and  the  pewters  twinkled  like  the  legs  of 
the  demented  ballet-girls.  The  conductor 
waved  the  now  frenzied  orchestra  to  softer 
L'ydian  strains.  My  Great  and  Only  warbled 
piano : 


MY  GREAT  AND  ONLY  271 

**  At  the  back  o'  Knightsbridge  Barricks, 

Wben  the  fog's  a-gatherin'  dim, 
The  Lifeguard  waits  for  the  Undercook, 

But  she  won't  wait  for  'im." 

**  Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rah! "  rang  a  horn 
3lear  and  fresh  as  a  sword-cut.  'Twas  the  apo- 
theosis of  virtue. 

'*  She's  married  a  man  in  the  poultry  line 
That  lives  at  'Ighgate  '111, 
An'  the  Lifeguard  walks  with  the  'ousemaid 

now, 
An'  (awful  pause)  she  can't  foot  the  bill!  " 

Who  shall  tell  the  springs  that  move  masses! 
[  had  builded  better  than  I  knew.  Followed  yells, 
shrieks  and  wildest  applause.  Then,  as  a  wave 
gathers  to  the  curl-over,  singer  and  sung  to  fill 
their  chests  and  heave  the  chorus  through  the 
quivering  roof— alto,  horns,  basses  drowned,  and 
iost  in  the  flood — to  the  beach-like  boom  of  beat- 
ing feet: 

*  Oh,  think  o'  my  song  when  you're  gowin'  it 
strong 
An'  your  boots  is  tPQ  little  to  'old  yer  j 


272  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

An'  don't  try  for  things  that  is  out  of  your 
reach, 
An'  that's  what  the  girl  told  the   soldier, 
soldier,  so-holdier!  " 

Ow!  Hi!  Yi!  Wha-hup!  Phew!  Whew! 
Pwhit!  Bang!  Wang!  Crr-rash!  There  was 
ample  time  for  variations  as  the  horns  uplifted 
themselves  and  ere  the  held  voices  came  down 
in  the  foam  of  sound — 

"  That's  what  the  girl  told  the  soldier.'' 

Providence  has  sent  me  several  joys,  and  I  have 
helped  myself  to  others,  but  that  night,  as  I  looked 
across  the  sea  of  tossing  billycocks  and  rocking 
bonnets,  my  work,  as  I  heard  them  give  tongue, 
not  once,  but  four  times — their  eyes  sparkling, 
their  mouths  twisted  with  the  taste  of  pleasure — 
I  felt  that  I  had  secured  Perfect  Felicity.  I  am 
become  greater  than  Shakespeare.  I  may  even 
write  plays  for  the  Lyceum,  but  I  never  can  re- 
capture that  first  fine  rapture  that  followed  the 
Upheaval  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  four  hundred  of 
him  and  her.  They  do  not  call  for  authors  on 
these  occasions,  but  I  desired  no  meed  of  public 


MY  GREAT  AND  ONLY  273 

recognition.  I  was  placidly  happy.  The  chorus 
bubbled  up  again  and  again  throughout  the  even- 
ing, and  a  redcoat  in  the  gallery  insisted  on 
singing  solos  about  **  a  swine  in  the  poultry  line," 
whereas  I  had  written  **  man,"  and  the  pewters 
began  to  fly,  and  afterwards  the  long  streets  were 
vocal  with  various  versions  of  what  the  girl  had 
really  told  the  soldier,  and  I  went  to  bed  mur- 
muring: **  I  have  found  my  destiny." 

But  it  needs  a  more  mighty  intellect  to  write 
the  Songs  of  the  People.  Some  day  a  man  will 
rise  up  from  Bermondsey,  Battersea  or  Bow,  and 
he  will  be  coarse,  but  clear-sighted,  hard  but  in- 
finitely and  tenderly  humorous,  speaking  the 
people's  tongue,  steeped  in  their  lives  and  telling 
them  in  swinging,  urging,  dinging  verse  what  it 
is  that  their  inarticulate  lips  would  express.  He 
will  make  them  songs.  Such  songs !  And  all  the 
little  poets  who  pretend  to  sing  to  the  people  will 
scuttle  away  like  rabbits,  for  the  girl  (which,  as 
you  have  seen,  of  course,  is  wisdom)  will  tell  that 
soldier  (which  is  Hercules  bowed  under  his 
labours)  all  that  she  knows  of  Life  and  Death  and 
Love. 

And  the  same,  they  say,  is  a  Vulgarity! 


''  THE  BETEAYAL  OF  CONFIDENCES  " 

rilHAT  was  its  real  name,  and  its  nature  was 
like  unto  it;  but  what  else  could  I  do?     You 
must  judge  for  me. 

They  brought  a  card — the  housemaid  with  the 
fan-teeth  held  it  gingerly  between  black  finger 
and  blacker  thumb — and  it  carried  the  name  Mr. 
E.  H.  Hoffer  in  old  Gothic  letters.  A  hasty  rush 
through  the  file  of  bills  showed  me  that  I  owed 
nothing  to  any  Mr.  Hoffer,  and  assuming  my 
sweetest  smile,  I  bade  Fan  of  the  Teeth  show 
him  up.  Enter  stumblingly  an  entirely  canary- 
coloured  young  person  about  twenty  years  of  age, 
with  a  suspicious  bulge  in  the  bosom  of  his  coat. 
He  had  grown  no  hair  on  his  face ;  his  eyes  were 
of  a  delicate  water-green,  and  his  hat  was  a  brown 
billycock,  which  he  fingered  nervously.  As  the 
room  was  blue  with  tobacco-smoke  (and  Latakia 
at  that)  he  coughed  even  more  nervously,  and  be- 
gan seeking  for  me.  I  hid  behind  the  writing- 
table  and  took  notes.  What  I  most  noted  was 
the  bulge  in  his  bosom.     When  a  man  begins  to 

274 


''  THE  BETRAYAL  OF  CONFIDENCES  "  275 

bulge  as  to  that  portion  of  his  anatomy,  hit  him 
in  the  eye,  for  reasons  which  will  be  apparent 
later  on. 

He  saw  me  and  advanced  timidly.  I  invited  him 
seductively  to  the  only  other  chair,  and  **  What's 
the  trouble?  "  said  I. 

**  I  wanted  to  see  you,"  said  he. 

**  I  am  me,"  said  I. 

**  I — I — I  thought  you  would  be  quite  other- 
wise," said  he. 

**  I  am,  on  the  contrary,  completely  this  way," 
said  I.  **  Sit  still,  take  your  time  and  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

He  wriggled  tremulously  for  three  minutes,  and 
coughed  again.  I  surveyed  him,  and  waited  de- 
velopments. The  bulge  under  the  bosom  crackled. 
Then  I  frowned.  At  the  end  of  three  minutes  he 
began. 

*^  I  wanted  to  see  what  you  were  like,"  said  he. 

I  inclined  my  head  stiffly,  as  though  all  London 
habitually  climbed  the  storeys  on  the  same  errand 
and  rather  wearied  me. 

Then  he  delivered  himself  of  a  speech  which 
he  had  evidently  got  by  heart.  He  flushed  pain- 
fully in  the  delivery. 


276  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

**  I  am  flattered,"  I  said  at  the  conclusion. 
**  It's  beastly  gratifying.     What  do  you  want?  " 

'*  Advice,  if  you  will  be  so  good,'*  said  the 
young  man. 

**  Then  you  had  better  go  somewhere  else,'' 
said  I. 

The  young  man  turned  pink.  '  *  But  I  thought, 
after  I  had  read  your  works — all  your  works,  on 
my  word — I  had  hoped  that  you  would  understand 
me,  and  I  really  have  come  for  advice."  The 
bulge  crackled  more  ominously  than  ever. 

**  I  understand  perfectly,"  said  I.  *^  You  are 
oppressed  with  vague  and  nameless  longings,  are 
you  not?  " 

**  I  am,  terribly,"  said  he. 

**  You  do  not  wish  to  be  as  other  men  are?  You 
desire  to  emerge  from  the  common  herd,  to  make 
your  mark,  and  so  forth?  " 

'*  Yes,"  said  he  in  an  awe-stricken  whisper. 
**  That  is  my  desire." 

**  Also,"  said  I,  **  you  love,  excessively,  in  sev- 
eral places  at  once  cooks,  housemaids,  governesses, 
schoolgirls  and  the  aunts  of  other  people." 

**  But  one  only,"  said  he,  and  the  pink  deepened 
to  beetroot. 


''  THE  BETRAYAL  OF  CONFIDENCES  "  277 

**  Consequently,''  said  I,  '*  you  liave  written 
much — you  have  written  verses." 

**  It  was  to  teach  me  to  write  prose,  only  to 
teach  me  to  write  prose,"  he  murmured.  **  You 
do  it  yourself,  because  I  have  bought  your  works 
— all  your  works." 

He  spoke  as  if  he  had  purchased  dunghills  en 
bloc, 

**  We  will  waive  that  question,"  I  said  loftily. 
**  Produce  the  verses." 

**  They — they  aren't  exactly  verses,"  said  the 
young  man,  plunging  his  hand  into  his  bosom. 

**  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  meant  will  you  be  good 
enough  to  read  your  five-act  tragedy." 

**  How — ^how  in  the  world  did  you  know?  "  said 
the  young  man,  more  impressed  than  ever. 

He  unearthed  his  tragedy,  the  title  of  which  I 
have  given,  and  began  to  read.  I  felt  as  though 
I  were  walking  in  a  dream;  having  been  till  then 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  earth  held  young  men 
who  held  five-act  tragedies  in  their  insides.  The 
young  man  gave  me  the  whole  of  the  performance, 
from  the  preliminary  scene,  where  nothing  more 
than  an  eruption  of  Vesuvius  occurs  to  mar  the 
serenity  of  the  manager,  till  the  very  end,  where 


278  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

the  Eoman  sentry  of  Pompeii  is  slowly  banked  up 
with  ashes  in  the  presence  of  the  audience,  and 
dies  murmuring  through  his  helmet-vizor:  **  S.P. 
Q.E.E.I.P.K.S.V.P.,"  or  words  to  that  effect. 

For  three  hours  and  one-half  he  read  to  me. 
And  then  I  made  a  mistake. 

**  Sir,"  said  I,  **  who's  your  Ma  and  Pa?  " 

**  I  haven't  got  any,"  said  he,  and  his  lower  lip 
quivered. 

**  Where  do  you  live?  "  I  said. 

**  At  the  back  of  Tarporley  Mews,"  said  he. 

''  How?  "  said  I. 

**  On  eleven  shillings  a  week,"  said  he. 

**  I  was  pretty  well  educated,  and  if  you  don't 
stay  too  long  they  will  let  you  read  the  books  in 
the  Holywell  Street  stalls." 

*^  And  you  wasted  your  money  buying  my 
books,"  said  I  with  a  lump  the  size  of  a  bolster  in 
my  throat. 

'*  I  got  them  second-hand,  four  and  sixpence," 
said  he,  *'  and  some  I  borrowed." 

Then  I  collapsed.  I  didn't  weep,  but  I  took  the 
tragedy  and  put  it  in  the  fire,  and  called  myself 
every  name  that  I  knew. 

This  caused  the  young  man  to   sob  audibly, 


THE  BETRAYAL  OF  CONFIDENCES  ''  279 


partly  from  emotion  and  partly  from  lack  of 
food. 

I  took  off  my  hat  to  him  before  I  showed  him 
out,  and  we  went  to  a  restaurant  and  I  arranged 
things  generally  on  a  financial  basis. 

Would  that  I  could  let  the  tale  stop  here.  But 
[  cannot. 

Three  days  later  a  man  came  to  see  me  on  busi- 
Qess,  an  objectionable  man  of  uncompromising 
truth.  Just  before  he  departed  he  said :  **  D'  you 
know  anything  about  the  struggling  author  of  a 
tragedy  called  *  The  Betrayal  of  Confidences  '?  " 

*^  Yes,"  said  I.  **  One  of  the  few  poor  souls 
who  in  the  teeth  of  grinding  poverty  keep  alight." 

**  At  the  back  of  Tarporley  Mews,"  said  he. 
'*  On  eleven  shillings  a  week." 

*^  On  the  mischief!  "  said  I. 

'*  He  didn't  happen  to  tell  you  that  he  con- 
sidered you  the  finest,  subtlest,  truest,  and  so  forth 
of  all  the  living  so  forths,  did  he?  " 

**  He  may  have  said  something  out  of  the  ful- 
Qess  of  an  overladen  heart.  You  know  how  un- 
bridled is  the  enthusiasm  of " 

**  Young  gentlemen  who  buy  your  books  with 
their  last  farthing.     You  didn't  soak  it  all  in  by 


280  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

any  chance,  give  Mm  a  good  meal  and  half  a 
sovereign  as  well,  did  you?  " 

*'  I  own  up,"  I  said.  *'  I  did  all  that  and  more, 
But  how  do  you  know?  " 

**  Because  he  victimised  me  in  the  same  way  a 
fortnight  ago." 

''  Thank  you  for  that,"  I  said,  ^^  hut  I  burned 
his  disgusting  manuscripts.     And  he  wept." 

*^  There,  unless  he  keeps  a  duplicate,  you  have 
scored  one." 

But  considering  the  matter  impartially,  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  game  is  not  more  than  *^  fifteen  all  " 
in  any  light. 

It  makes  me  blush  to  think  about  it. 


THE  NEW  DISPENSATION— I 

LONDON  IN  A  FOG NOVEMBER 

rpHINGS  have  happened — ^but  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  What  I  urgently  require  is 
a  servant — a  nice,  fat  Mussulman  khitmatgar,  who 
is  not  above  doing  bearer's  work  on  occasion. 
Such  a  man  I  would  go  down  to  Southampton  or 
Tilbury  to  meet,  would  usher  tenderly  into  a  first- 
class  carriage  (I  always  go  third  myself)  and 
wrap  in  the  warmest  of  flannel.  He  should  be 
''  Jenab/'  and  I  would  be  ''  0  Turn/'  When  he 
died,  as  he  assuredly  would  in  this  weather,  I 
would  bury  him  in  my  best  back  garden  and  write 
mortuary  verses  for  publication  in  the  Koh-i-Nur, 
or  whatever  vernacular  paper  he  might  read.  I 
want,  in  short,  a  servant;  and  this  is  why  I  am 
writing  to  you. 

The  English,  who,  by  the  way,  are  unmitigated 
barbarians,  maintain  cotton-print  housemaids  to 
do  work  which  is  the  manifest  portion  of  a  man. 

281 


282  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

Besides  which,  no  properly  constructed  person 
cares  to  see  a  white  woman  waiting  upon  his  needs, 
filling  coal-scuttles  (these  are  very  mysterious 
beasts)  and  tidying  rooms.  The  young  homebred 
Englishman  does  not  object,  and  one  of  the  most 
tantalising  sights  in  the  world  is  that  of  the  young 
man  of  the  house — the  son  newly  introduced  to 
shaving-water  and  great  on  the  subject  of  main- 
taining authority — it  is  tantalising,  I  say,  to  see 
this  young  cub  hectoring  a  miserable  little  slavey 
for  not  having  lighted  a  fire  or  put  his  slippers 
in  their  proper  place.  The  next  time  a  big,  bold 
man  from  the  frontier  comes  home  I  shall  hire 
him  to  kick  a  few  young  gentlemen  of  my  ac- 
quaintance all  round  their  own  drawing-rooms 
while  I  lecture  on  my  theory  that  this  sort  of 
thing  accounts  for  the  perceptible  lack  of  chivalry 
in  the  modem  Englishman.  Now,  if  you  or  I  oi 
anybody  else  raved  over  and  lectured  at  Kadii 
Baksh,  or  Eam  Singh,  or  Jagesa  on  the  necessity 
of  obeying  orders  and  the  beauty  of  reverencing 
our  noble  selves,  our  men  would  laugh;  or  if  the 
lecture  struck  them  as  too  long-winded  would  ask 
us  if  our  livers  were  out  of  order  and  recommend 
dawaL     The  housemaid  must  stand  with  her  eyes 


THE  NEW  DISPENSATION— I       283 

)n  the  ground  while  the  young  whelp  sticks  his 
lands  under  the  tail  of  his  dressing-gown  and 
explains  her  duty  to  her.  This  makes  me  ill  and 
;ick — sick  for  Kadir  Baksh,  who  rose  from  the 
^arth  when  I  called  him,  who  knew  the  sequence 
>f  my  papers  and  the  ordering  of  my  paltry  gar- 
nents,  and,  I  verily  believed,  loved  me  not  alto- 
gether for  the  sake  of  lucre.  He  said  he  would 
jome  with  me  to  Belait  because,  ^*  though  the 
jahib  says  he  will  never  return  to  India,  yet  I 
mow,  and  all  the  other  nauker  log  know,  that  re- 
urn  is  his  fate.'' 

Being  a  fool,  I  left  Kadir  Baksh  behind,  and 
low  I  am  alone  with  housemaids,  who  will  under 
10  circumstances  sleep  on  the  mat  outside  the 
loor.  Even  as  I  write,  one  of  these  persons  is 
cleaning  up  my  room.  Kadir  Baksh  would  have 
ione  his  work  without  noise.  She  tramps  and 
icuffles ;  and,  what  is  much  worse,  snuffles  horribly. 
J^adir  Baksh  would  have  saluted  me  cheerfully 
md  began  some  sort  of  a  yam  of  the  '^  It  hath 
•cached  me,  O  Auspicious  King!  "  order,  and  per- 
laps  we  should  have  debated  over  the  worthless- 
less  of  Dunni,  the  sais,  or  the  chances  of  a  little 
!old-weather  expedition,  or  the  wisdom  of  retain- 


284  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

ing  a  fresh  chaprassi — some  intimate  friend  of 
Kadir  Baksh.  But  now  I  have  no  horses  and  no 
chaprassis,  and  this  smutty-faced  girl  glares  at 
me  across  the  room  as  though  she  expected  I  was 
going  to  eat  her. 

She  must  have  a  soul  of  her  own — a  life  of  her 
own — and  perhaps  a  few  amusements.  I  can't 
get  at  these  things.  She  says:  *^  Ho,  yuss/'  and 
^'  Ho,  no,''  and  if  I  hadn't  heard  her  chattering 
to  the  lift-boy  on  the  stairs  I  should  think  that 
her  education  stopped  at  these  two  phrases.  Now, 
I  knew  all  about  Kadir  Baksh,  his  hopes  and  his 
savings — ^his  experiences  in  the  past,  and  the 
health  of  the  little  ones.  He  was  a  man — a  human 
man  remarkably  like  myself,  and  he  knew  that  as 
well  as  I.  A  housemaid  is  of  course  not  a  man, 
but  she  might  at  least  be  a  woman.  My  wander- 
ings about  this  amazing  heathen  city  have  brought 
me  into  contact  with  very  many  English  mem 
sahibs  who  seem  to  be  eaten  up  with  the  fear  of 
letting  their  servants  get  *^  above  their  position," 
or  **  presume,"  or  do  something  which  would 
shake  the  foundations  of  the  four-mile  cab  radius. 
They  seem  to  carry  on  a  sort  of  cat-and-mouse 
war  when  the  husband  is  at  office  and  they  have 


THE  NEW  DISPENSATION— I       285 

Qothing  much  to  do.  Later,  at  places  where  their 
friends  assemble,  they  recount  the  campaign,  and 
the  other  women  purr  approvingly  and  say :  *  *  You 
iid  quite  right,  my  dear.  It  is  evident  that  she 
forgets  her  place." 

All  this  is  edifying  to  the  stranger,  and  gives 
[lim  a  great  idea  of  the  dignity  that  has  to  be 
bolstered  and  buttressed,  eight  hours  of  the 
twenty-four,  against  the  incendiary  attacks  of  an 
3igh  teen-pound  including-beer-money  sleep  s-in- 
i-garret-at  -  the  -  top  -  of  -  the  -  house  servant-girl, 
rhere  is  a  fine-crusted,  slave-holding  instinct  in 
ihe  hearts  of  a  good  many  deep-bosomed  matrons 
—a  **  throw  back  "  to  the  times  when  we  trafficked 
n  black  ivory.  At  tea-tables  and  places  where 
^hey  eat  muffins  it  is  called  dignity.  Now,  your 
Kadir  Baksh  or  my  Kadir  Baksh,  who  is  a  down- 
:rodden  and  oppressed  heathen  (the  young  gentle- 
nen  who  bullyrag  white  women  assure  me  that  we 
ire  in  the  habit  of  kicking  our  dependents  and 
)eating  them  with  umbrellas  daily),  would  ask  for 
lis  chits,  and  probably  say  something  sarcastic 
jre  he  drifted  out  of  the  compound  gate,  if  you 
lagged  or  worried  his  noble  self.  He  does  not 
mow  much  about  the  meaner  forms  of  dignity, 


286  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

but  he  is  entirely  sound  on  tlie  subject  of  izzat; 
and  the  fact  of  his  cracking  an  azure  and  Oriental 
jest  with  you  in  the  privacy  of  your  dressing- 
room,  or  seeing  you  at  your  incoherent  worst  when 
you  have  an  attack  of  fever,  does  not  in  the  least 
affect  his  general  deportment  in  public,  where  he 
knows  that  the  honour  of  his  sahib  is  his  own 
honour,  and  dons  a  new  kummerbund  on  the 
strength  of  it. 

I  have  tried  to  deal  with  those  housemaids  in 
every  possible  way.  To  sling  a  blunt  *'  Annie  " 
or  *^  Mary  "  or  ^^  Jane  ''  at  a  girl  whose  only 
fault  is  that  she  is  a  heavy-handed  incompetent, 
strikes  me  as  rather  an  insult,  seeing  that  the  girl 
may  have  a  brother,  and  that  if  you  had  a  sister 
who  was  a  servant  you  would  object  to  her  being 
howled  at  upstairs  and  downstairs  by  her  given 
name.  But  only  ladies'  maids  are  entitled  to 
their  surnames.  They  are  not  nice  people  as  a 
caste,  and  they  regard  the  housemaids  as  the 
chamar  regards  the  mehter.  Consequently,  I 
have  to  call  these  girls  by  their  Christian  names, 
and  cock  my  feet  up  on  a  chair  when  they  are 
cleaning  the  grate,  and  pass  them  in  the  halls  in 
the  morning  as  though  they  didn't  exist.     Now, 


THE  NEW  DISPENSATION— I       287 

he  morning  salutation  of  your  Kadir  Baksh.  or  my 
^adir  is  a  performance  which  Turveydrop  might 
^nvy.  These  persons  don't  understand  a  nod; 
hey  think  it  as  bad  as  a  wink,  I  believe.  Eespect 
md  courtesy  are  lost  upon  them,  and  I  suppose 

must  gather  my  dressing-gown  into  a  tail  and 
wear  at  them  in  the  bloodless  voice  affected  by 
he  British  female  who — ^have  I  mentioned  this  ? — 
s  a  highly  composite  heathen  when  she  comes  in 
ontact  with  her  sister  clay  downstairs. 

The  softer  methods  lay  one  open  to  harder 
uspicions.  Not  long  ago  there  was  trouble 
mong  my  shirts.  I  fancied  buttons  grew  on 
leck-bands.  Kadir  Baksh  and  the  durzie  en- 
ouraged  me  in  the  belief.  When  the  lead-coloured 
Lnen  (they  cannot  wash,  by  the  way,  in  this  strong- 
Lold  of  infidels)  shed  its  buttons  I  cast  about 
or  a  means  of  renewal.  There  was  a  housemaid, 
-nd  she  was  not  very  ugly,  and  I  thought  she 
ould  sew.  I  knew  I  could  not.  Therefore  I 
trove  to  ingratiate  myself  with  her,  believing  that 
I  little  interest,  combined  with  a  little  capital, 
rould  fix  those  buttons  more  firmly  than  anything 
Ise.  Subsequently,  and  after  an  interval — the 
luttons   were   dropping   like    autumn   leaves — ^I 


288  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

kissed  her.  The  buttons  were  attached  at  once. 
So,  unluckily,  was  the  housemaid,  for  I  gathered 
that  she  looked  forward  to  a  lifetime  of  shirt- 
sewing  in  an  official  capacity,  and  my  Eevenue 
Board  contemplated  no  additional  establishment. 
My  shirts  are  buttonsome,  but  my  character  is 
blasted.     Oh,  I  wish  I  had  Kadir  Baksh ! 

This  is  only  the  first  instalment  of  my  troubles. 
The  heathen  in  these  parts  do  not  understand  me ; 
so  if  you  will  allow  I  will  come  to  you  for  sym- 
pathy from  time  to  time.    I  am  a  child  of  calamity. 


THE  NEW  DISPENSATION— II 

"l^TRITING  of  Kadir  Baksh  so  wrought  up  my 
feelings  that  I  could  not  rest  till  I  had  at 
least  made  an  attempt  to  get  a  hudli  of  some  sort. 
The  black  man  is  essential  to  my  comfort.  I 
fancied  I  might  in  this  city  of  barbarism  catch 
a  brokendown  native  strayed  from  his  home  and 
friends,  who  would  be  my  friend  and  humble  pard- 
ner — ^the  sort  of  man,  y'  know,  who  would  sleep 
on  a  rug  somewhere  near  my  chambers  (I  have 
forty  things  to  tell  you  about  chambers,  but  they 
come  later),  and  generally  look  after  my  things. 
In  the  intervals  of  labour  I  would  talk  to  him 
in  his  own  tongue,  and  we  would  go  abroad  to- 
gether and  explore  London. 

Do  you  know  the  Albert  Docks?  The  British- 
India  steamers  go  thence  to  the  sunshine.  They 
sometimes  leave  a  la  scar  or  two  on  the  wharf, 
and,  in  fact,  the  general  tone  of  the  population 
thereabouts  is  brown  and  umber.  I  was  in  no 
case  to  be  particular.     Anything  dusky  would 

289 


290  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

do  for  me,  so  long  as  it  could  talk  Hindustani  and 
sew  buttons.  I  went  to  the  docks  and  walked 
about  generally  among  the  railway  lines  and  pack- 
ing-cases, till  I  found  a  man  selling  tooth-combs, 
which  is  not  a  paying  trade.  He  was  ragged  even 
to  furriness,  and  very  unwashed.  But  he  came 
from  the  East.  '*  What  are  you?  "  I  said,  and 
the  look  of  the  missionary  that  steals  over  me  in 
moments  of  agitation  deluded  that  tooth-comb  man 
into  answering,  *^  Sar,  I  am  native  ki-lis-ti-an, " 
but  he  put  five  more  syllables  into  the  last  word. 

There  is  no  Christianity  in  the  docks  worth  a 
tooth-comb.  *'  I  don't  want  your  beliefs.  I  want 
your  jat/^  said  I. 

*'  I  am  Tamil,"  said  he,  **  and  my  name  is 
Eamasawmy." 

It  was  an  awful  thing  to  lower  oneself  to  the 
level  of  a  Colonel  of  the  Madras  Army,  and  come 
down  to  being  tended  by  a  Eamasawmy;  but  beg- 
gars cannot  be  choosers.  I  pointed  out  to  him 
that  the  tooth-comb  trade  was  a  thing  lightly  to 
be  dropped  and  taJ^en  up.  He  might  injure  his 
health  by  a  washing,  but  he  could  not  much  hurt 
his  prospects  by  coming  along  with  me  and  trying 
his  hand  at  bearer's  work.     **  Could  he  work?  " 


THE  NEW  DISPENSATION— n      291 

Oh,  yes,  he  didn't  mind  work.  He  had  been  a 
servant  in  his  time.     Several  servants,  in  fact. 

''  Could  he  wash  himself?  '' 

^  *  Ye-es, ' '  he  might  do  that  if  I  gave  him  a  coat 
— a  thick  coat — afterwards,  and  especially  took 
care  of  the  tooth-combs,  for  they  were  his  little  all. 

^^  Had  he  any  character  of  any  kind?  " 

He  thought  for  a  minute  and  then  said  cheer- 
fully: '^  Not  a  little  dam.''  Thereat  I  loved  him, 
because  a  man  who  can  speak  the  truth  in  minor 
matters  may  be  trusted  with  important  things, 
such  as  shirts. 

We  went  home  together  till  we  struck  a  public 
bath,  mercifully  divided  into  three  classes.  I 
got  him  to  go  into  the  third  without  much  difficulty. 
When  he  came  out  he  was  in  the  way  of  cleanli- 
ness, and  before  he  had  time  to  expostulate  I  ran 
him  into  the  second.  Into  the  first  he  would  not 
go  till  I  had  bought  him  a  cheap  ulster.  He  came 
out  almost  clean.  That  cost  me  three  shillings 
altogether.  The  ulster  was  half  a  sovereign,  and 
some  other  clothes  were  thirty  shillings.  Even 
these  things  could  not  hide  from  me  that  he  looked 
an  unusually  villainous  creature. 

At  the  chambers  the  trouble  began.    The  people 


292  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

in  charge  had  race  prejudices  very  strongly,  and 
I  had  to  point  out  that  he  was  a  civilised  native 
Christian  anxious  to  improve  his  English — it  was 
fluent  but  unchastened — ^before  they  would  give 
him  some  sort  of  a  crib  to  lie  down  in.  The  house- 
maids called  him  the  Camel.  I  introduced  him 
as  **  the  Tamil,''  but  they  knew  nothing  of  the 
ethnological  subdivisions  of  India.  They  called 
him  *^  that  there  beastly  camel,"  and  I  saw  by  the 
light  in  his  eje  he  understood  only  too  well. 

Coming  up  the  staircase  he  confided  to  me  his 
views  about  the  housemaids.  He  had  lived  at 
the  docks  too  long.  I  said  they  weren't.  He  said 
they  were. 

Then  I  showed  him  his  duties,  and  he  stood  long 
in  thought  before  the  wardrobe.  He  evidently 
knew  more  than  a  little  of  the  work,  but  whenever 
he  came  to  a  more  than  unusually  dilapidated 
garment,  he  said:  **  No  good  for  you,  I  take  "; 
and  he  took.  Then  he  put  all  the  buttons  on  in 
the  smoking  of  a  pipe,  and  asked  if  there  was 
anything  else.  I  weakly  said  **  No."  He  said: 
**  Good-bye,"  and  faded  out  of  the  house.  The 
housekeeper  of  the  chambers  said  he  would  never 
return. 


THE  NEW  DISPENSATION— II      293 

But  he  did.  At  three  in  the  moming  home  he 
came,  and,  naturally,  possessing  no  latch-key,  rang 
the  bell.  A  policeman  interfered,  taking  him  for 
a  burglar,  and  I  was  roused  by  the  racket.  I 
explained  he  was  my  servant  and  the  policeman 
said:  **  He  do  swear  wonderful.  'Tain't  any  lan- 
guage. I  know  most  of  it,  but  some  IVe  heard 
at  Poplar.'*  Then  I  dragged  the  Camel  upstairs. 
He  was  quite  sober,  and  said  he  had  been  waiting 
at  the  docks.  He  must  wait  at  the  docks  every 
time  a  British-India  steamer  came  in.  A  lascar 
on  the  Rewah  had  stabbed  him  in  the  side  three 
voyages  ago,  and  he  was  waiting  for  his  man. 
**  Maybe  he  have  died,"  he  said;  **  but  if  he  have 
not  died  I  catch  him  and  cut  his  liver  out."  Then 
he  curled  himself  up  on  the  mat,  and  slept  as  noise- 
lessly as  a  child. 

Next  morning  he  inspected  the  humble  break- 
fast bloater,  which  did  not  meet  with  his  approval, 
for  he  instantly  cut  it  in  two  pieces,  fried  it  with 
butter,  dusted  it  with  pepper,  and  miraculously 
made  of  it  a  dish  fit  for  a  king.  When  the  shock- 
headed  boy  came  to  take  away  the  breakfast 
things,  he  counted  every  piece  of  crockery  into  his 
quaking  hand  and  said:  **  If  you  break  one  dam 


294  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

thing  I  cut  your  dam  liver  out  and  fly  him  with 
butter. ' '  Consequently,  the  housemaids  said  they 
were  not  going  to  clean  the  rooms  as  long  as  the 
Camel  abode  within.  The  Camel  put  his  head  out 
of  the  door  and  said  they  need  not.  He  cleaned 
the  rooms  with  his  own  hand  and  without  noise, 
filled  my  pipe,  made  the  bed,  filled  a  pipe  for  him- 
self, and  sat  down  on  the  hearth-rug  while  I 
worked.  "When  thought  carried  him  away  to  the 
lascar  of  the  Reivah^  he  would  brandish  the  poker 
or  take  out  his  knife  and  whet  it  on  the  brickwork 
of  the  grate.  It  was  a  soothing  sound  to  work 
to.  At  one  o'clock  he  said  that  the  Chyehassa 
would  be  in,  and  he  must  go.  He  demanded  no 
money,  saw  that  my  tiffin  was  served,  and  fled. 
He  returned  at  six  o'clock  singing  a  hymn.  A 
lascar  on  the  Chyehassa  had  told  him  that  the 
Rewah  was  due  in  four  days,  and  that  his  friend 
was  not  dead,  but  ripe  for  the  knife.  That  night 
he  got  very  drunk  while  I  was  out,  and  frightened 
the  housemaids.  All  the  chambers  were  in  an 
uproar,  but  he  crawled  out  of  the  skylight  on  the 
roof,  and  sat  there  till  I  came  home. 

In  the  dawn  he  was  very  penitent.     He  had 
misarranged  his  drink:  the  original  intention  be- 


THE  NEW  DISPENSATION— II      295 

ing  to  sleep  it  off  on  my  hearth-rug,  but  a  house- 
maid had  invited  a  friend  up  to  the  chambers  to 
look  at  him,  and  the  whispered  comments  and 
giggles  made  him  angry.  All  next  day  he  was 
restless  but  attentive.  He  urged  me  to  fly  to 
foreign  shores,  and  take  him  with  me.  When 
other  inducements  failed,  he  reiterated  that  he 
was  a  *  *  native  ki-lis-ti-an,  ^ '  and  whetted  his  knife 
more  furiously  than  ever.  *  *  You  do  not  like  this 
place.  1  do  not  like  this  place.  Let  us  travel 
dam  quick.  Let  us  go  on  the  sea.  I  cook  blot- 
ters.'' I  told  him  this  was  impossible,  but  that 
if  he  stayed  in  my  service  we  might  later  go  abroad 
and  enjoy  ourselves. 

But  he  would  not  rest  and  sleep  on  the  rug 
and  tend  my  shirts.  On  the  morning  of  the 
Rewah's  arrival  he  went  away,  and  from  his  ab- 
sence I  fancied  he  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
the  law.  But  at  midnight  he  came  back,  weak 
and  husky. 

**  Have  got  him,"  said  he  simply,  and  dragged 
his  ulster  down  from  the  wall,  wrapping  it  very 
tightly  round  him.     *'  Now  I  go  'way.'' 

He  went  into  the  bedroom,  and  began  counting 
over  the  tale  of  the  week's  wash,  the  boots,  and 


296  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

so  forth.  "  All  right,"  he  called  into  the  other 
room.  Then  came  in  to  say  good-bye,  walking 
slowly. 

**  What's  your  name,  marshter?  ''  said  he.  I 
told  him.  He  bowed  and  descended  the  staircase 
painfully.  I  had  not  paid  him  a  penny,  and  since 
he  did  not  ask  for  it,  counted  on  his  returning 
at  least  for  wages. 

It  was  not  till  next  morning  that  I  found  big 
dark  drops  on  most  of  my  clean  shirts,  and  the 
housemaid  complained  of  a  trail  of  blood  all  down 
the  staircase. 

**  The  Camel  "  had  received  payment  in  full 
from  other  hands  than  mine. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STOEIES 

Wherefore  I  perceive  that  there  is  nothing  better  than  that  a 
man  should  rejoice  in  his  own  works;  for  that  is  his  portion. 

— Ecc.  iii,  22. 

"TT'ENCH  with  a  long  hand,  lazy  one,"  I  said 
to  the  punkah  coolie.  *' But  I  am  tired," 
said  the  coolie.  **  Then  go  to  Jehannum  and  get 
another  man  to  pull,"  I  replied,  which  was  rude 
and,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  unnecessary. 

**  Happy  thought — go  to  Jehannum!  "  said  a 
voice  at  my  elbow.  I  turned  and  saw,  seated 
on  the  edge  of  my  bed,  a  large  and  luminous  Devil. 
**  I'm  not  afraid,"  I  said.  **  You're  an  illusion 
bred  by  too  much  tobacco  and  not  enough  sleep. 
If  I  look  at  you  steadily  for  a  minute  you  will 
disappear.     You  are  an  ignis  fatuus," 

*'  Fatuous  yourself!  "  answered  the  Devil 
blandly.  **  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  know 
mef"  He  shrivelled  up  to  the  size  of  a  blob 
of  sediment  on  the  end  of  a  pen,  and  I  recognised 
my  old  friend  the  Devil  of  Discontent,  who  lived 

297 


298  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

in  the  bottom  of  the  inkpot,  but  emerges  half  a 
day  after  each  story  has  been  printed  with  a  host 
of  useless  suggestions  for  its  betterment. 

* '  Oh,  it 's  you,  is  it  ?  ' '  I  said.  ' '  You  're  not  due 
till  next  week.     Get  back  to  your  inkpot." 

**  Hush!  "  said  the  Devil.     **  I  have  an  idea."  J 

**  Too  late,  as  usual.    I  know  your  ways."  i 

**  No.  It's  a  perfectly  practicable  one.  Your 
swearing  at  the  coolie  suggested  it.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  a  man  called  Dante — charmin'  fellow, 
fHend  o'  mine?  "  .| 

**  *  Dante  once  prepared  to  paint  a  picture,'  I 
quoted. 

**  Yes.  I  inspired  that  notion — ^but  never  min^i. 
Are  you  willing  to  play  Dante  to  my  Virgil?  I 
can't  guarantee  a  nine-circle  Inferno,  any  more 
than  you  can  turn  out  a  cantoed  epic,  but  there's 
absolutely  no  risk  and — ^it  will  run  to  three 
columns  at  least." 

*'  But  what  sort  of  Hell  do  you  own?  "  I  said. 
'*  I  fancied  your  operations  were  mostly  above 
ground.  You  have  no  jurisdiction  over  the 
dead." 

"  Sainted  Leopardi!  "  rapped  the  Devil,  resum- 
ing natural  size.     "  Is  that  all  you  know?    I'm 


THE  LAST  OF  THE   STORIES       299 

proprietor  of  one  of  the  largest  Hells  in  existence 
— the  Limbo  of  Lost  Endeavor,  where  the  souls  of 
all  the  Characters  go." 

''  Characters?     What  Characters!  " 

**  All  the  characters  that  are  drawn  in  books, 
painted  in  novels,  sketched  in  magazine  articles, 
thumb-nailed  in  feuilletons  or  in  any  way  created 
by  anybody  and  everybody  who  has  had  the  for- 
tune or  misfortune  to  put  his  or  her  writings  into 
print." 

**  That  sounds  like  a  quotation  from  a  pros- 
pectus. What  do  you  herd  Characters  for? 
Aren't  there  enough  souls  in  the  Universe?  " 

**  Who  possess  souls  and  who  do  not?  For 
aught  you  can  prove,  man  may  be  soulless  and 
the  creatures  he  writes  about  immortal.  Anyhow, 
about  a  hundred  years  after  printing  became  an 
established  nuisance,  the  loose  Characters  used 
to  blow  about  interplanetary  space  in  legions 
which  interfered  with  traffic.  So  they  were  col- 
lected, and  their  charge  became  mine  by  right. 
Would  you  care  to  see  them?  Your  own  are 
there/' 

"  "  That  decides  me.  But  is  it  hotter  than  Nor- 
thern India?  " 


300  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

**  On  my  Devildom,  no.  Put  your  arms  round 
my  neck  and  sit  tight.     I'm  going  to  dive!  *' 

He  plunged  from  the  bed  headfirst  into  the  floor. 
There  was  a  smell  of  jail-durrie  and  damp  earth; 
and  then  fell  the  black  darkness  of  night. 

"We  stood  before  a  door  in  a  topless  wall,  from 
the  further  side  of  which  came  faintly  the  roar 
of  infernal  fires. 

*'  But  you  said  there  was  no  danger!  ''  I  cried 
in  an  extremity  of  terror. 

**  No  more  there  is,"  said  the  Devil.  **  That's 
only  the  Furnace  of  First  Edition.  Will  you  go 
on?  No  other  human  being  has  set  foot  here  in 
the  flesh.  Let  me  bring  the  door  to  your  notice. 
Pretty  design,  isn't  it?     A  joke  of  the  Master's." 

I  shuddered,  for  the  door  was  nothing  more  than 
a  coffin,  the  backboard  knocked  out,  set  on  end 
in  the  thickness  of  the  wall.  As  I  hesitated,  the 
silence  of  space  was  cut  by  a  sharp,  shrill  whistle, 
like  that  of  a  live  shell,  which  rapidly  grew  louder 
and  louder.  **  Get  away  from  the  door,"  said  the 
Devil  of  Discontent  quickly.  '*  Here's  a  soul  com- 
ing to  its  place."  I  took  refuge  under  the  broad 
vans  of  the  Devil's  wiags.     The  whistle  rose  to 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STORIES       301 

an  ear-splitting  shriek  and  a  naked  soul  flashed 
past  me. 

**  Always  the  same,'*  said  the  Devil  quietly. 
**  These  little  writers  are  so  anxious  to  reach  their 
reward.  H'm,  I  don't  think  he  likes  his^fiy 
though.'*  A  yell  of  despair  reached  my  ears  and 
I  shuddered  afresh.  *^  Who  was  he!  ''  I  asked. 
*'  Hack-writer  for  a  pornographic  firm  in  Bel- 
gium, exporting  to  London,  you'll  understand 
presently — and  now  we'll  go  in,"  said  the  Devil. 
**  I  must  apologise  for  that  creature's  rudeness. 
He  should  have  stopped  at  the  distance-signal  for 
line-clear.  You  can  hear  the  souls  whistling  there 
now." 

**  Are  they  the  souls  of  men?,  "  I  whispered. 

**  Yes — writer-men.  That's  why  they  are  so 
shrill  and  querulous.  Welcome  to  the  Limbo  of 
Lost  Endeavour!  " 

They  passed  into  a  domed  hall,  more  vast  than 
visions  could  embrace,  crowded  to  its  limit  by  men, 
women  and  children.  Round  the  eye  of  the  dome 
ran,  a  flickering  fire,  that  terrible  quotation  from 
Job :  *  *  Oh,  that  mine  enemy  had  written  a  book !  ' ' 

**  Neat,  isn't  it?  "  said  the  Devil,  following  my 
glance.     **  Another  joke  of  the  Master's.     Man 


302  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

of  Us,  y'  know.  In  the  old  days  we  used  to  put 
the  Characters  into  a  disused  circle  of  Dante's 
Inferno,  but  they  grew  overcrowded.  So  Balzac 
and  Theophile  Gautier  were  commissioned,  to 
write  up  this  building.  It  took  them  three  years 
to  complete,  and  is  one  of  the  finest  under  earth. 
Don't  attempt  to  describe  it  unless  you  are  quite 
sure  you  are  equal  to  Balzac  and  Gautier  in  col- 
laboration. Look  at  the  crowds  and  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  them." 

I  looked  long  and  earnestly,  and  saw  that  many 
of  the  multitude  were  cripples.  They  walked  on 
their  heels  or  their  toes,  or  with  a  list  to  the  right 
or  left.  A  few  of  them  possessed  odd  eyes  and 
parti-coloured  hair;  more  threw  themselves  into 
absurd  and  impossible  attitudes ;  and  every  fourth 
woman  seemed  to  be  weeping. 

**  Who  are  these?  "  I  said. 

**  Mainly  the  population  of  three-volume  novels 
that  never  reach  the  six-shilling  stage.  See  that 
beautiful  girl  with  one  grey  eye  and  one  brown, 
and  the  black  and  yellow  hair?  Let  her  be  an 
awful  warning  to  you  how  you  correct  your  proofs. 
She  was  created  by  a  careless  writer  a  month  ago, 
and  he  changed  all  colours  in  the  second  volume. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STOEIES       303 

So  she  came  here  as  you  see  her.  There  will  be 
trouble  when  she  meets  her  author.  He  can 't  alter 
her  now,  and  she  says  she'll  accept  no  apology.'* 

**  But  when  will  she  meet  her  author?  " 

**  Not  in  my  department.  Do  you  notice  a 
general  air  of  expectancy  among  all  the  Charac- 
ters ?  They  are  waiting  for  their  authors.  Look ! 
That  explains  the  system  better  than  I  can." 

A  lovely  maiden,  at  whose  feet  I  would  willingly 
have  fallen  and  worshipped,  detached  herself  from 
the  crowd  and  hastened  to  the  door  through  which 
I  had  just  come.  There  was  a  prolonged  whistle 
without,  a  soul  dashed  through  the  cofiin  and  fell 
upon  her  neck.  The  girl  with  the  parti-coloured 
hair  eyed  the  couple  enviously  as  they  departed 
arm  in  arm  to  the  other  side  of  the  hall. 

'*  That  man,"  said  the  Devil,  '^  wrote  one  maga- 
zine story,  of  twenty-four  pages,  ten  years  ago 
when  he  was  desperately  in  love  with  a  flesh  and 
blood  woman.  He  put  all  his  heart  into  the  work, 
and  created  the  girl  you  have  just  seen.  The 
flesh  and  blood  woman  married  some  one  else  and 
died — it's  a  way  they  have — but  the  man  has  this 
girl  for  his  very  own,  and  she  will  everlastingly 
grow  sweeter." 


304  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL' 

**  Then  the  Characters  are  independent?  " 

*  *  Slightly !  Have  you  never  known  one  of  your 
Characters — even  yours — ^get  beyond  control  as 
soon  as  they  are  made?  '' 

^*  That's  true.  Where  are  those  two  happy 
creatures  going?  " 

**  To  the  Levels.  You  Ve  heard  of  authors  find- 
ing their  levels?  We  keep  all  the  Levels  here. 
As  each  writer  enters,  he  picks  up  his  Characters, 
or  they  pick  him  up,  as  the  case  may  be,  and  to  the 
Levels  he  goes.'' 

^*  I  should  like  to  see " 

**  So  you  shall,  when  you  come  through  that 
door  a  second  time — ^whistling.  I  can't  take  you 
there  now." 

**  Do  you  keep  only  the  Characters  of  living 
scribblers  in  this  hall?  " 

**  We  should  be  crowded  out  if  we  didn't  draft 
them  off  somehow.  Step  this  way  and  I'll  take 
you  to  the  Master.  One  moment,  though.  There's 
John  Ridd  with  Lorna  Doone,  and  there  are  Mr. 
Maliphant  and  the  Bormalacks — clannish  folk, 
those  Besant  Characters — don't  let  the  twins  talk 
to  you  about  Literature  and  Art.  Come  along. 
What's  here?  " 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STORIES       305 

The  white  face  of  Mr.  John  Oakhurst,  gambler, 
broke  through  the  press.  **  I  wish  to  explain," 
said  he  in  a  level  voice,  **  that  had  I  been  con- 
sulted I  should  never  have  blown  out  my  brains 
with  the  Duchess  and  all  that  Poker  Flat  lot.  I 
wish  to  add  that  the  only  woman  I  ever  loved 
was  the  wife  of  Brown  of  Calaveras."  He 
pressed  his  hand  behind  him  suggestively.  *  *  All 
right,  Mr.  Oakhurst,"  I  said  hastily;  **  I  believe 
you."  **  Kin  you  set  it  right!  "  he  asked,  drop- 
ping into  the  Doric  of  the  Gulches.  I  caught  a 
trigger's  cloth-muffled  click.  **  Just  heavens!  " 
I  groaned.  **  Must  I  be  shot  for  the  sake  of  an- 
other man's  Characters?  "  Oakhurst  levelled  his 
revolver  at  my  head,  but  the  weapon  was  struck 
up  by  the  hand  of  Yuba  Bill.  **  You  dumed 
fool!  "  said  the  stage-driver.  **  Hevn't  I  told 
you  no  one  but  a  blamed  idiot  shoots  at 
sight  now?  Let  the  galoot  go.  You  kin  see 
by  his  eyes  he's  no  party  to  your  matrimonial 
arrangements."  Oakhurst  retired  with  an  ir- 
reproachable bow,  but  in  my  haste  to  escape  I 
fell  over  Caliban,  his  head  in  a  melon  and  his 
tame  ore  under  his  arm.  He  spat  like  a  wild- 
cat. 


306  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

*'  Manners  none,  customs  beastly,"  said  the 
Devil.  *^  We'll  take  the  Bishop  with  us.  They 
all  respect  the  Bishop.''  And  the  great  Bishop 
Blougram  joined  us,  calm  and  smiling,  with  the 
news,  for  my  private  ear,  that  Mr.  Gigadibs  de- 
spised him  no  longer. 

We  were  arrested  by  a  knot  of  semi-nude 
Bacchantes  kissing  a  clergyman.  The  Bishop's 
eyes  twinkled,  and  I  turned  to  the  Devil  for  ex- 
planation. 

''  That's  Eobert  Elsmere— what's  left  of  him," 
said  the  Devil.  ^^  Those  are  French  feuilleton 
women  and  scourings  of  the  Opera  Comique.  He 
has  been  lecturing  'em,  and  they  don't  like  it." 
**  He  lectured  me!  "  said  the  Bishop  with  a  bland 
smile.  **  He  has  been  a  nuisance  ever  since  he 
came  here.  By  the  Holy  Law  of  Proportion,  he 
had  the  audacity  to  talk  to  the  Master!  Called 
him  a  ^  pot-bellied  barbarian  ' !  That  is  why  he 
is  walking  so  stiffly  now,"  said  the  Devil. 
'*  Listen!  Marie  Pigeonnier  is  swearing  death- 
less love  to  him.  On  my  word,  we  ought  to  segre- 
gate the  French  characters  entirely.  By  the  way, 
your  regiment  came  in  very  handy  for  Zola's  im- 
portations." 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STOEIES       307 

'*  My  regiment?  ''  I  said.  **  How  do  you 
mean?  '' 

'  ^  You  wrote  something  about  the  Tyneside  Tail- 
Twisters,  just  enough  to  give  the  outline  of  the 
regiment,  and  of  course  it  came  down  here — one 
thousand  and  eighty  strong.  I  told  it  off  in 
hollow  squares  to  pen  up  the  Eougon-Macquart 
series.  There  they  are.''  I  looked  and  saw  the 
Tyneside  Tail- Twisters  ringing  an  inferno  of 
struggling,  shouting,  blaspheming  men  and  women 
in  the  costumes  of  the  Second  Empire.  Now  and 
again  the  shadowy  ranks  brought  down  their  butts 
on  the  toes  of  the  crowd  inside  the  square,  and 
shrieks  of  pain  followed.  *^  You  should  have  in- 
dicated your  men  more  clearly;  they  are  hardly 
up  to  their  work,''  said  the  Devil.  ^*  If  the  Zola 
tribe  increase,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  use  up 
your  two  companies  of  the  Black  Tyrone  and  two 
of  the  Old  Eegiment." 

**  I  am  proud "  I  began. 

*'  Go  slow,"  said  the  Devil.  *'  You  won't  be 
half  so  proud  in  a  little  while,  and  I  don't  think 
much  of  your  regiments,  anyway.  But  they  are 
good  enough  to  fight  the  French.  Can  you  hear 
Coupeau  raving  in  the  left  angle  of  the  square? 


308  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

He  used  to  run  about  the  hall  seeing  pink  snakes, 
till  the  children's  story-book  Characters  protested. 
Come  along!  '' 

Never  since  Caxton  pulled  his  first  proof  and 
made  for  the  world  a  new  and  most  terrible  God 
of  Labour  had  mortal  man  such  an  experience  as 
mine  when  I  followed  the  Devil  of  Discontent 
through  the  shifting  crowds  below  the  motto  of 
the  Dome.  A  few — a  very  few — of  the  faces  were 
of  old  friends,  but  there  were  thousands  whom  I 
did  not  recognise.  Men  in  every  conceivable  at- 
tire and  of  every  possible  nationality,  deformed  by 
intention,  or  the  impotence  of  creation  that  could 
not  create — blind,  unclean,  heroic,  mad,  sinking 
under  the  weight  of  remorse  or  with  eyes  made 
splendid  by  the  light  of  love  and  fixed  endeavour ; 
women  fashioned  in  ignorance  and  mourning  the 
errors  of  their  creator,  life  and  thought  at  vari- 
ance with  body  and  soul;  perfect  women  such  as 
walk  rarely  upon  this  earth,  and  horrors  that 
were  women  only  because  they  had  not  sufficient 
self-control  to  be  fiends;  little  children,  fair  as 
the  morning,  who  put  their  hands  into  mine  and 
made  most  innocent  confidences ;  loathsome,  lank- 
haired  infant-saints,  curious  as  to  the  welfare  of 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STOEIES       309 

my  soul,  and  deligMfully  miscMevons  boys, 
generalled  by  the  irrepressible  Tom  Sawyer,  who 
played  among  murderers,  harlots,  professional 
beauties,  nuns,  Italian  bandits  and  politicians  of 
state. 

The  ordered  peace  of  Arthur's  Court  was  broken 
up  by  the  incursions  of  Mr.  John  Wellington 
Wells,  and  Dagonet,  the  jester,  found  that  his 
antics  drew  no  attention  so  long  as  the  **  dealer  in. 
magic  and  spells,"  taking  Tristram's  harp,  sang 
patter- songs  to  the  Bound  Table;  while  a  Zulu 
Impi,  headed  by  Allan  Quatermain,  wheeled  and 
shouted  in  sham  fight  for  the  pleasure  of  Little 
Lord  Fauntleroy.  Every  century  and  every  type 
was  jumbled  in  the  confusion  of  one  colossal 
fancy-ball  where  all  the  characters  were  living 
their  parts. 

**  Aye,  look  long,"  said  the  Devil.  *'  You  will 
never  be  able  to  describe  it,  and  the  next  time 
you  come  you  won't  have  the  chance.  Look  long, 
and  look  at  " — Good's  passing  with  a  maiden  of 
the  Zu-Vendi  must  have  suggested  the  idea — 
*  *  look  at  their  legs. ' '  I  looked,  and  for  the  second 
time  noticed  the  lameness  that  seemed  to  be  almost 
universal  in  the  Limbo  of  Lost  Endeavour.    Brave 


310  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

men  and  stalwart  to  all  appearance  had  one  leg 
shorter  than  the  other;  some  paced  a  few  inches 
above  the  floor,  never  touching  it,  and  others  found 
the  greatest  difficulty  in  preserving  their  feet  at 
all.  The  stiffness  and  laboured  gait  of  these 
thousands  was  pitiful  to  witness.  I  was  sorry  for 
them.     I  told  the  Devil  as  much. 

**  H'm,"  said  he  reflectively,  **  that's  the 
world's  work.  Eather  cockeye,  ain't  it?  They 
do  everything  but  stand  on  their  feet.  You  could 
improve  them,  I  suppose?  "  There  was  an  un- 
pleasant sneer  in  his  tone,  and  I  hastened  to 
change  the  subject. 

"I'm  tired  of  walking,"  I  said.  "I  want 
to  see  some  of  my  own  characters,  and  go 
on  to  the  Master,  whoever  he  may  be,  after- 
wards." 

**  Eeflect,"  said  the  Devil.  **  Are  you  certain 
— do  you  know  .how  many  they  be?  " 

"  No—but  I  want  to  see  them.  That's  what  I 
came  for." 

**  Very  well.  Don't  abuse  me  if  you  don't  like 
the  view.  There  are  one-and-fifty  of  your  make 
up  to  date,  and— it's  rather  an  appalling  thing 
to  be  confronted  with  fifty-one  children.     How- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STOKIES       311 

ever,  here's  a  special  favourite  of  yours.  Go  and 
shake  hands  with  her!  '' 

A  limp- jointed,  staring-eyed  doll  was  hirpling 
towards  me  with  a  strained  smile  of  recognition. 
I  felt  that  I  knew  her  only  too  well — if  indeed  she 
were  she.  *  *  Keep  her  off,  Devil !  ' '  I  cried,  step- 
ping back.  **  I  never  made  that!  "  **  *  She  began 
to  weep  and  she  began  to  cry,  Lord  ha'  mercy  on 
me,  this  is  none  of  I! '  You're  very  rude  to — 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  and  she  wants  to  speak  to  you," 
said  the  Devil.  My  face  must  have  betrayed  my 
dismay,  for  the  Devil  went  on  soothingly :  * '  That's 
as  she  is,  remember.  I  knew  you  wouldn't  like 
it.  Now  what  will  you  give  if  I  make  her  as  she 
ought  to  be?  No,  I  don't  want  your  soul,  thanks. 
I  have  it  already,  and  many  others  of  better 
quality.  Will  you,  when  you  write  your  story, 
own  that  I  am  the  best  and  greatest  of  all  the 
Devils?  "  The  doll  was  creeping  nearer.  **  Yes," 
I  said  hurriedly.  **  Anything  you  like.  Only  I 
can't  stand  her  in  that  state." 

*'  You'll  have  to  when  you  come  next  again. 
Look!  No  connection  with  Jekyll  and  Hyde!  " 
The  Devil  pointed  a  lean  and  inky  finger  towards 
the  doll,  and  lo !  radiant,  bewitching,  with  a  smile 


312  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

of  dainty  malice,  her  higli  heels  clicking  on  the 
floor  like  castanets,  advanced  Mrs.  Hauksbee  as 
I  had  imagined  her  in  the  beginning. 

**  Ah!  "  she  said.  **  You  are  here  so  soon? 
Not  dead  yet?  That  will  come.  Meantime,  a 
thousand  congratulations.  And  now,  what  do  you 
think  of  me?  '*  She  put  her  hands  on  her  hips, 
revealed  a  glimpse  of  the  smallest  foot  in  Simla 
and  hummed:  ** 'Just  look  at  that  .  .  .  just  look 
at  this !   And  then  you'll  see  I'm  not  amiss. '  " 

'*  She'll  use  exactly  the  same  words  when  you 
meet  her  next  time,"  said  the  Devil  warningly. 
**  You  dowered  her  with  any  amount  of  vanity, 

if  you  left  out Excuse  me  a  minute!     I'll 

fetch  up  the  rest  of  your  menagerie."  But  I 
was  looking  at  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 

**  Well?  "  she  said.  ''  Am  I  what  you  ex- 
pected? "  I  forgot  the  Devil  and  all  his  works, 
forgot  that  this  was  not  the  woman  I  had  made, 
and  could  only  murmur  rapturously :  *  *  By  Jove ! 
You  are  a  beauty."  Then,  incautiously:  *'  And 
you  stand  on  your  feet."  *' Good  heavens!" 
said  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  '*  Would  you,  at  my  time 
of  life,  have  me  stand  on  my  head?  "     She  folded 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STORIES       313 

her  arms  and  looked  me  up  and  down.  I  was 
grinning  imbecilely — the  woman  was  so  alive. 
**  Talk,"  I  said  absently;  **  I  want  to  hear  you 
talk."  *'  I  am  not  used  to  being  spoken  to  like 
a  coolie,"  she  replied.  '*  Never  mind,"  I  said, 
**  that  may  be  for  outsiders,  but  I  made  you  and 
IVe  a  right " 

**  You  have  a  right?  You  made  me?  My  dear 
sir,  if  I  didn't  know  that  we  should  bore  each 
other  so  inextinguishably  hereafter  I  should  read 
you  an  hour's  lecture  this  instant.  You  made 
me !  I  suppose  you  will  have  the  audacity  to  pre- 
tend that  you  understand  me — that  you  ever 
understood  me.  Oh,  man,  man — foolish  man !  If 
you  only  knew!  " 

**  Is  that  the  person  who  thinks  he  understands 
us,  Loo?  "  drawled  a  voice  at  her  elbow.  The 
Devil  had  returned  with  a  cloud  of  witnesses,  and 
it  was  Mrs.  Mallowe  who  was  speaking. 

**  IVe  touched  'em  all  up,"  said  the  Devil  in 
an  aside.  "  You  couldn't  stand  'em  raw.  But 
don't  run  away  with  the  notion  that  they  are  your 
work.  I  show  you  what  they  ought  to  be.  You 
must  find  out  for  yourself  how  to  make  'em 
so." 


314  ABAPT  THE  FUNNEL 

**  Am  I  allowed  to  remodel  the  batch — ^up 
above?  '*  I  asked  anxiously. 

"  Lit  era  scripta  manet.  That's  in  the  Delectus 
and  Eternity."  He  turned  round  to  the  semi- 
circle of  Characters:  **  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  who 
are  all  a  great  deal  better  than  you  should  be 
by  virtue  of  my  power,  let  me  introduce  you  to 
your  maker.  If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  him, 
you  can  say  if 

'*  What  insolence!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee  be- 
tween her  teeth.  **  This  isn't  a  Peterhoff  draw- 
ing-room. I  haven't  the  slightest  intention  of 
being  leveed  by  this  person.  Polly,  come  here  and 
we'll  watch  the  animals  go  by."  She  and  Mrs. 
Mallowe  stood  at  my  side.  I  turned  crimson  with 
shame,  for  it  is  an  awful  thing  to  see  one's  Char- 
acters in  the  solid. 

**  Wal,"  said  Gilead  P.  Beck  as  he  passed,  **  I 
would  not  be  you  at  this  pre-cise  moment  of  time, 
not  for  all  the  ile  in  the  univarsal  airth.  No, 
sirr!  I  thought  my  dinner-party  was  soul-shat- 
terin',  but  it's  mush — ^mush  and  milk — ^to  your 
circus.     Let  the  good  work  go  on!  " 

I  turned  to  the  company  and  saw  that  they  were 
men  and  women,  standing  upon  their  feet  as  folks 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STOEIES       315 

should  stand.  Again  I  forgot  the  Devil,  who 
stood  apart  and  sneered.  From  the  distant  door 
of  entry  I  could  hear  the  whistle  of  arriving  souls, 
from  the  semi-darkness  at  the  end  of  the  hall  came 
the  thunderous  roar  of  the  Furnace  of  First  Edi- 
tion, and  everywhere  the  restless  crowds  of  Char- 
acters muttered  and  rustled  like  windblown 
autumn  leaves.  But  I  looked  upon  my  own  people 
and  was  perfectly  content  as  man  could  be. 

**  I  have  seen  you  study  a  new  dress  with  just 
such  an  expression  of  idiotic  beatitude,"  whis- 
pered Mrs.  Mallowe  to  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  *  ^  Hush !  ' ' 
said  the  latter.  **  He  thinks  he  understands." 
Then  to  me :  *  *  Please  trot  them  out.  Eternity 
is  long  enough  in  all  conscience,  but  that  is  no 
reason  for  wasting  it.  Pro-ceed,  or  shall  I  call 
them  up?  Mrs.  Vansuythen,  Mr.  Boult,  Mrs. 
Boult,  Captain  Kurrel  and  the  Major!  "  The 
European  population  in  Kashima  in  the  Dosehri 
hills,  the  actors  in  the  Wayside  Comedy,  moved 
towards  me ;  and  I  saw  with  delight  that  they  were 
human.  **  So  you  wrote  about  us?  "  said  Mrs. 
Boult.  *'  About  my  confession  to  my  husband 
and  my  hatred  of  that  Vansuythen  woman  ?  Did 
you  think  that  you  understood?    Are  all  men  such 


316  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

fools? ''  **  That  woman  is  bad  form,"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  **  but  she  speaks  the  truth.  I  wonder 
what  these  soldiers  have  to  say.''  Gunner  Bar- 
nabas and  Private  Shacklock  stopped,  saluted,  and 
hoped  I  would  take  no  offence  if  they  gave  it  as 
their  opinion  that  I  had  not  *  *  got  them  down  quite 
right."    I  gasped. 

A  spurred  Hussar  succeeded,  his  wife  on  his 
arm.  It  was  Captain  Gadsby  and  Minnie,  and 
close  behind  them  swaggered  Jack  Mafflin,  the 
Brigadier-General  in  his  arms.  ' '  Had  the  cheek 
to  try  to  describe  our  life,  had  you?  "  said  Gadsby 
carelessly.  **  Ha-hmm!  S'pose  he  understood, 
Minnie?  "  Mrs.  Gadsby  raised  her  face  to  her 
husband  and  murmured:  **  I'm  sure  he  didn't, 
Pip,"  while  Poor  Dear  Mamma,  still  in  her  riding- 
habit  hissed:  **  I'm  sure  he  didn't  understand 
me."     And  these  also  went  their  way. 

One  after  another  they  filed  by — Trewinnard, 
the  pet  of  his  Department;  Otis  Yeere,  lean  and 
lanthorn- jawed ;  Crook  O'Neil  and  Bobby  Wick 
arm  in  arm;  Janki  Meah,  the  blind  miner  in  the 
Jimahari  coal  fields;  Afzul  Khan,  the  policeman; 
the  murderous  Pathan  horse-dealer,  Durga  Dass; 
the  bunnia,  Boh  Da  Thone;  the  dacoit,  Dana  Da, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STORIES       317 

weaver  of  false  magic;  the  Leander  of  the  Barhwi 
ford;  Peg  Barney  drunk  as  a  coot;  Mrs.  Delville, 
the  dowd;  Dinah  Shadd,  large,  red-cheeked  and 
resolute;  Simmons,  Slane  and  Losson;  Georgie 
Porgie  and  his  Burmese  helpmate ;  a  shadow  in  a 
high  collar,  who  was  all  that  I  had  ever  indicated 
of  the  Hawley  Boy — the  nameless  men  and  women 
who  had  trod  the  Hill  of  Illusion  and  lived  in 
the  Tents  of  Kedar,  and  last,  His  Majesty  the 
King. 

Each  one  in  passing  told  me  the  same  tale,  and 
the  burden  thereof  was:  **  You  did  not  under- 
stand." My  heart  turned  sick  within  me. 
''  Where's  Wee  Willie  Winkie?  "  I  shouted. 
''  Little  children  don't  lie." 

A  clatter  of  pony's  feet  followed,  and  the  child 
appeared,  habited  as  on  the  day  he  rode  into  Af- 
ghan territory  to  warn  Coppy's  love  against  the 
*^  bad  men."  *'  I've  been  playing,"  he  sobbed, 
'  *  playing  on  ve  Levels  wiv  Jackanapes  and  LoUo, 
an'  he  says  I'm  only  just  borrowed.  I'm  isn't 
borrowed.  I'm  Willie  'Wi-inkie!  Vere's 
Coppy?  " 

**  *  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings,'  " 
whispered   the   Devil,   who   had   drawn  nearer. 


318  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

**  You  know  the  rest  of  the  proverb.  Don't  look 
as  if  you  were  going  to  be  shot  in  the  morning! 
Here  are  the  last  of  your  gang/' 

I  turned  despairingly  to  the  Three  Musketeers, 
dearest  of  all  my  children  to  me — to  Privates  Mul- 
vaney,  Ortheris  and  Learoyd.  Surely  the  Three 
would  not  turn  against  me  as  the  others  had  done ! 
I  shook  hands  with  Mulvaney.  *^  Terence,  how 
goes?  Are  you  going  to  make  fun  of  me,  too?  " 
**  'Tis  not  for  me  to  make  fun  av  you,  sorr," 
said  the  Irishman,  **  knowin'  as  I  du  know,  fwat 
good  friends  we've  been  for  the  matter  av  three 
years." 

^'  Fewer,"  said  Ortheris,  **  'twas  in  the  Helan- 
thami  bar  ricks,  H  block,  we  was  become  acquaint, 
an'  'ere's  thankin'  you  kindly  for  all  the  beer 
we've  drunk  twix'  that  and  now." 

**  Four  ut  is,  then,"  said  Mulvaney.     **  He  an' 

Dinah  Shadd  are  your  friends,  but "   He  stood 

uneasily. 

''  But  what?  "  I  said. 

**  Savin'  your  presence,  sorr,  an'  it's  more  than 
onwillin'  I  am  to  be  hurtin'  you;  you  did  not 
ondersthand.  On  my  sowl  an'  honour,  sorr,  you 
did  not  ondersthand.     Come  along,  you  two." 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STORIES       319 

But  Ortheris  stayed  for  a  moment  to  whisper: 
^^  It's  Gawd's  own  trewth,  but  there's  this  'ere 
to  think.  'Tain't  the  bloomin'  belt  that's  wrong, 
as  Peg  Barney  sez,  when  he's  up  for  bein'  dirty 
on  p'rade.  'Tain't  the  bloomin'  belt,  sir;  it's  the 
bloomin'  pipeclay."  Ere  I  could  seek  an  ex- 
planation he  had  joined  his  companions. 

**  For  a  private  soldier,  a  singularly  shrewd 
man,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  and  she  repeated  Or- 
theris's  words.  The  last  drop  filled  my  cup,  and 
I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  bade  her  be  quiet  in 
a  wholly  unjustifiable  tone.  I  was  rewarded  by 
what  would  have  been  a  notable  lecture  on  pro- 
priety, had  I  not  said  to  the  Devil :  ^  ^  Change  that 
woman  to  a  d — d  doll  again !  Change  'em  all  back 
as  they  were — as  they  are.    I'm  sick  of  them." 

**  Poor  wretch!  "  said  the  Devil  of  Discontent 
very  quietly.     **  They  are  changed." 

The  reproof  died  on  Mrs.  Hauksbee 's  lips,  and 
she  moved  away  marionette-fashion,  Mrs.  Mallowe 
trailing  after  her.  I  hastened  after  the  remainder 
of  the  Characters,  and  they  were  changed  indeed 
— even  as  the  Devil  had  said,  who  kept  at  my 
side. 

They  limped  and  stuttered  and  staggered  and 


320  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

mouthed  and  staggered  round  me,  till  I  could  en- 
dure no  more. 

**  So  I  am  the  master  of  this  idiotic  puppet- 
shoiF,  am  I?  '*  I  said  bitterly,  watching  Mulvaney 
trying  to  come  to  attention  by  spasms. 

*l-^n  saecula  saeculorum/*  said  the  Devil,  bow- 
ing his  head;  **  and  you  needn't  kick,  my  dear 
fellow,  because  they  will  concern  no  one  but  your- 
self by  the  time  you  whistle  up  to  the  door.  Stop 
reviling  me  and  uncover.     Here's  the  Master!  " 

Uncover !  I  would  have  dropped  on  my  knees, 
had  not  the  Devil  prevented  me,  at  sight  of  the 
portly  form  of  Maitre  FrauQois  Eabelais,  some 
time  Cure  of  Meudon.  He  wore  a  smoke-stained 
apron  of  the  colours  of  Gargantua.  I  made  a 
sign  which  was  duly  returned.  **  An  Entered 
Apprentice  in  difficulties  with  his  rough  ashlar, 
Worshipful  Sir,"  explained  the  Devil.  I  was  too 
angry  to  speak. 

Said  the  Master,  rubbing  his  chin:  **  Are  those 
things  yours?  "  **  Even  so.  Worshipful  Sir,"  I 
muttered,  praying  inwardly  that  the  Characters 
would  at  least  keep  quiet  while  the  Master  was 
near.  He  touched  one  or  two  thoughtfully,  put 
his  hand  upon  my  shoulder  and  started:  '*  By  the 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STOEIES       321 

Great  Bells  of  Notre  Dame,  you  are  in  the  flesh — 
the  warm  flesh! — the  flesh  I  quitted  so  long — ah, 
so  long !  And  you  fret  and  behave  unseemly  be- 
cause of  these  shadows !  Listen  now !  ^^^flll  I? 
would  give  my  Three,  Panurge,  Gargantua  and 
Pantagruel,  for  one  little  hour  of  the  life^k|t  is 
in  you.     And  7  am  the  Master !  "  ^^ 

But  the  words  gave  me  no  comfort.  I  could 
hear  Mrs.  Mallowe's  joints  cracking — or  it  might 
have  been  merely  her  stays. 

*'  Worshipful  Sir,  he  will  not  believe  that,*'  said 
the  Devil.  **  Who  live  by  shadows  lust  for  shad- 
ows.   Tell  him  something  more  to  his  need.*' 

The  Master  grunted  contemptuously:  **  And  he 
is  flesh  and  blood !  Know  this,  then.  The  First 
Law  is  to  make  them  stand  upon  their  feet,  and 
the  Second  is  to  make  them  stand  upon  their  feet, 
and  the  Third  is  to  make  them  stand  upon  their 
feet.  But,  for  all  that,  Trajan  is  a  fisher  of 
frogs."  He  passed  on,  and  I  could  hear  him  say 
to  himself:  **  One  hour — one  minute — of  life  in 
the  flesh,  and  I  would  sell  the  Great  Perhaps  thrice 
over!  " 

**  Well,"  said  the  Devil,  **  you've  made  the 
Master  angry,  seen  about  all  there  is  to  be  seen, 


322  ABAFT  THE  FUNNEL 

except  the  Furnace  of  First  Edition,  and,  as  the 
Master  is  in  charge  of  that,  I  should  avoid  it. 
Now  you'd  better  go.  You  know  what  you  ought 
t(JM^" 

W^don't  need  all  Hell " 

'ijkrdon  me.  Better  men  than  you  have  called 
thi^Paradise.'' 

*'  All  Hell,  I  said,  and  the  Master  to  tell  me 
what  I  knew  before.  What  I  want  to  know  is 
how?  "  ''  Go  and  find  out,"  said  the  Devil.  We 
turned  to  the  door,  and  I  was  aware  that  my 
Characters  had  grouped  themselves  at  the  exit. 
*  ^  They  are  going  to  give  you  an  ovation.  Think 
o'  that,  now!  '*  said  the  Devil.  I  shuddered  and 
dropped  my  eyes,  while  one-and-fifty  voices  broke 
into  a  wailing  song,  whereof  the  words,  so  far  as 
I  recollect,  ran : 

But  we  brought  forth  and  reared  in  hours 

Of  change,  alarm,  surprise. 
What  shelter  to  grow  ripe  is  ours — 

What  leisure  to  grow  wise? 

I  ran  the  gauntlet,  narrowly  missed  collision 
with  an  impetuous  soul  (I  hoped  he  liked  his 
Characters  when  he  met  them),  and  flung  free  into 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  STOEIES       323 

the  night,  where  I  should  have  knocked  my  head 
against  the  stars.     But  the  Devil  caught  me. 

The  brain-fever  bird  was  fluting  across  the  grey, 
dewy  lawn,  and  the  punkah  had  stopped  again. 
**  Go  to  Jehannum  and  get  another  man  to  pull," 
I  said  drowsily.  **  Exactly,''  said  a  voice  from 
the  inkpot. 

Now  the  proof  that  this  story  is  absolutely  true 
lies  in  the  fact  that  there  5viil  be  no  other  to 
follow  it. 


THE  END 


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